


The Resurrection Stone

by CompletelyDifferent



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Bullying, Child Abuse, F/F, F/M, Family, Friendship, Gen, Hogwarts AU, Homophobia, Human AU, Memory Alteration, Multi, Patronuses, Polyamorous Character, Racism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-13 03:26:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4505934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CompletelyDifferent/pseuds/CompletelyDifferent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Steven Universe turns eleven, he's utterly excited for his chance to attend Hogwarts, the school that he's heard so much about from his- well, 'family members' is probably the best way to describe them all. </p><p>But there's a lot he hasn't been told about the magical world he's finally entering. There's a darkness lurking beneath the surface, and if he is to survive, Steven is going to have to learn just how much of an impact the past can have on the present.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

This story begins when...

Well, it's not entirely clear.

Perhaps it begins in a time of war and violence, when four people stand tall, swear to create a sanctuary among the turmoil, and build a great castle where their kind's children can learn freely.

Perhaps it begins in a time of superstition, when fear leaves innocent women burning at the stake. A time when magic willingly retreated from the rest of the world, for what is said was the good of all.

Perhaps it begins long after that, when the magical world has long-since lived in isolated pockets, secret from everyone else. They say this is better; that being known brought nothing but chaos and conflict. That the muggles would endlessly beg and take if they knew, just as they have already taken so much of the world's lands for their own.

Perhaps it begins with a girl named Rose, raised on her family's claims about muggles being weak and useless, yet greedy and dangerous.  She's curious to see if it's all true. On an overcast day she grabs a broom, and flies high through the clouds, risking the chance to see this non-magical world for herself.

Perhaps it begins with a girl named Pearl, hiding in the bushes of a dried out park, her father's last slap still stinging on her face. She comes from magic, or so she's been told- she can barely remember the last time her mother dared cast a spell. She herself has only ever made brief bursts of magic- so brief, she's not even sure if they were truly real.

Perhaps it begins with a girl named Amethyst, one of fifty in her orphanage. By age eight, she has no illusions about her own future, and fights for every scrap she can get. One day, after listening to endless taunts about her black skin, she turns completely purple. The doctors are baffled by what they are certain  _must_ be a rash; she knows it is not. 

Perhaps it begins with a girl named Garnet, silent by nature, but even more silent by choice, as if to make the whispers that follow her all the louder. She wears dark muggle sunglasses over her mismatched eyes, and sees more than anyone knows.

Perhaps it begins with the friendship between these four girls, one forged against the odds, and made all the stronger for it.

Perhaps it begins with prejudice, and a war, one which spills into everything.

Perhaps it begins with a rebellion, and a vow to _fight back._

Perhaps it begins with a song sung on a starlit beach, and a romance which bridges two world.

Perhaps it begins with a kiss.

Perhaps, like so many stories, it begins with a mother's love, and a mother's sacrifice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So last week, I was standing there, making supper, when my brain tapped me on the head and said, "Hey, why don't we do a HP AU?"
> 
> And I said, "Huh, that's kind of fun to think about, but I've really got too much on my plate to start writing another fic. Shuffle that to the backburner, okay?"
> 
> Well, my brain didn't like that apparently, and so proceeded to flood my mind with a bazillion different images and head-canons and sortings, then laughed manically and said, "I WILL ONLY STOP IF YOU START WRITING THIS DOWN!"
> 
> So now I'm here.


	2. Mundane Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sending a big thank you to everyone who sent such good support for that first prologue. And an even _bigger_ thank you to [kurozu501](http://kurozu501.tumblr.com/tagged/steven-universe) and [Lady Raven Eye](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRavenEye/pseuds/LadyRavenEye), for helping me sort out so many of the details for this fic. 

Steven Universe is born into a world of magic.

The mobile that hangs above his cradle depicts a dragon, a phoenix, a broomstick and a magic carpet, all which fly in circles above his head. His family reads him picture books where the illustrations actually move- although not in the same way as the animated films he watches on the TV.

On dark, clear nights, he stares up at the star-filled sky above, and Garnet shows him the constellations, telling him about how the centaurs use them to read the future.

When he's bored, Amethyst will stick her tongue out of him- and it will be forked like a snake's. Then she'll turn her nose into a pig's, or her entire face into a cat's. Sometimes she pretends to be other people, and Steven falls to the floor, roaring with laughter at her impressions.

When he's coughing and sick and miserable, Pearl gives him a Pepper Up Potion, then sits by the side his bed, singing gentle lullabies to help him sleep.

He'll sit out on the deck with his Dad, listening to the waves roll in, the two of them playing their instruments in accompaniment. And that's magic, too.

oOoOoOo  
  


Growing up, Steven doesn't realize how unusual his life is. Of course, how could he? He has nothing else to compare it to.

When he's six years old, however, he gets his first hint at how different he truly has it. When he's getting ready for sleep the night before he's to start first grade, his Dad take a seat on his bed. He says, “Hey, Stevo. There's something I want to talk to you about.”

The boy blinks at him. “What?”

“It's... about school. And what you're supposed to talk about when you're there.”

“Always say ' _please_ ' and ' _thank you_ ',” Steven says, promptly.

“No, no, not like that.” The man sighs. “I mean more- what you're _not_ supposed to talk about. When you're at school, I don't want you talking about magic.”

The boy stares, aghast. “But- but- magic's like- like the coolest thing ever!”

“I know, kiddo. I know. But it's really not the kind of thing you should just be... _talking about,_ outside this house.”

The boy frowns, pure confusion on his face. “But- why?”

The man looks desperate. There's no easy answer to that; no answer that he could give his six-year-old son. So he just says, “Well. It's a secret, you see? A _special_ secret just between you, and me. And Garnet, and Amethyst and Pearl, too.”

“And MC Bear Bear?” Steven asks, clutching his teddy bear to his chest.

“MC Bear Bear, too,” Greg laughs. “But just us. Otherwise, try to stay low about the magic stuff, okay? Promise?”

“Okay,” Steven says, as his father tucks him in. “Promise.”

oOoOoOoOo

This promise is easier to keep in theory than it is in practice.

Three days after starting first grade, Greg comes to pick Steven up after school. So far, the boy had been enjoying classes immensely, and had been in good spirits by the end of each school day- he loves people, and other kids, and the chance to learn and play games, even if he sometimes has trouble staying still and listening to the teacher's instructions. Today, though, his mood definitely seems down. In fact, judging by the small scowl the boy wears as he climbs into the van's back seat, he seems almost _angry_.

“What's wrong, Stewball?” Greg asks, after he's finished buckling the child into his car-seat.

The boy looks at him. “Dad,” he says accusingly, “You said magic is a secret!”

“Well, yeah. It is.”

“Then how Emma gets to wear a _Frozen_ shirt? But _I_ can't even _talk_ about magic!”

To Steven's surprise, his Dad starts laughing- though the man quickly changes the laughter into strangled coughs when he notices the young boy's glare. “Oh. Oh, sorry, Steven. I didn't mean- _that_ kind of magic. Not the kind that isn't rea-” he catches himself mid-sentence. Steven loves _Frozen_ , and adores playing with his dolls of Elsa and Anna. Telling him that they aren't real would probably be a bad move. “Not the kind from _Frozen_ , or any other story. Not the kind you watch on TV, or read in books. I mean the kind of magic that Amethyst, Garnet and Pearl do.”

“Like with wands, and stuff?”

“Exactly.” Greg slams the back-door shut, takes the driver's seat, buckles in his seat belt. He turns on the ignition and starts out of the school's parking lot. 

Throughout it all, Steven puzzles his father's words over. There's a lot of magic that his friends do that he _also_ sees in movies. He needs more information. “How about brooms? Can I talk about them?”

Amethyst has told him all about broomsticks and Quidditch, while Garnet even bought him a little practice broomstick that he sometimes flies around the living room. But then, he's also seen flying broomsticks in _The Wizard of Oz_ , and every Halloween there's always all sorts of pictures of them around. Greg nods. “Yep, you shouldn't talk about flying broomsticks.”

“How about potions?”

“No potions either.”

“And shape-shifting?”

“Definitely no shape-shifting, son.”

Steven frowns. “But I still don't see _why not_.”

“I told you. It's a secret.”

“Doesn't seem like a secret,” Steven says, crossing his arms. “Seems like _lots_ of people know about magic.”

Greg sighs, and runs one hand through his greying hair. “Well, they _sort_ of know about it. But they don't _believe_ in it. Do you get what I mean?”

“... I guess so.”

oOoOoOoOo

Steven doesn't really get it, not at all. But he listens to his Dad, because his Dad is smart, and knows about lots of stuff, like how to play the guitar and how to make the best burgers ever, so he probably knows about this, too. Plus, it's kind of _fun_ , being in on a secret.

So Steven never purposely talks about the wands and the brooms and potions and the shape-shifting. Sometimes, though, it just- slips _out_.

When other kids are talking about how they had to get shots so that they don't get sick, Steven talks about how he also drinks these potions that make him feel better super fast, but make his ears smoke. They all look at him weird and one asks, “Do you mean, like, cough-syrup?”

One day, they're learning about animals and different pets. Other kids in the class have dogs, or cats, or parrots, or guinea pigs. One kid even has a lizard, which is _super_ cool. When they go around the circle giving answers, and they come to Steven, he explains that he doesn't _really_ have a pet, but that sometimes owls drop off the newspaper for the adults to read. He gets told off by the teacher for lying.

Another time, a girl in his class, Hee Su, explains about how she can talk to her grandparents who are living in Korea using Skype. Steven isn't sure what it is, and asks, “Is that with the fireplace? 'Cause I use floo powder to talk to my friends when they're in Scotland,” and she just stares at him before walking away. He's left blushing from shame and embarrassment when he realizes what he said wrong, and he _still_ doesn't know what Skype is.

The funny thing, though, is that no matter how many times he let's something about magic slip, nobody really seems to notice. Or care. Not long after the 'floo powder incident', he's hanging out out in the playground after school, along with all the other kids who are waiting for parents to show up. He notices a woman talking to the teacher. It's Amethyst, he realizes after a belated moment; she's not wearing her usual robes, but clothes that are more like his Dad's, and she's made her skin black instead of purple. He trots over to them, curious.

“...so I'm picking him up today.”

“I see,” he hears Ms. Caufield, his teacher, reply as he gets closer. “And what's your relationship with Steven, if you don't mind me asking?”

Amethyst shifts uneasily. “His- aunt.”

The teacher raises a somewhat sceptical eyebrow. The woman looks _nothing_ like Steven. “You're Greg's sister, then?”

“No,” Amethyst says flatly.

“Oh. _Oh_.” The teacher's face flushes, and her voice goes up and funny, the way they usually get when people start talking about his Mum. “So you're- um. From the mother's side.”

“Uh, yeah.” There's something challenging in her expression.

“Amethyst!” Steven calls out then, running up to wrap her in a hug. She breaks into a wide grin, opens her arms wide, and scoops him up.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

Still holding him up, she ruffles his hair with a free hand. “What, don't want to see me?”

“Of course I do!” says Steven, as she puts him back down. “Just wanna know where Dad is.”

“Something came up at the car wash, so it'll just be you and Aunty Amethyst for a while. How's that sound?”

“Great!”

Ms. Caufield seems mollified by the clear affection and joy in the boy's face. “You know,” she say to Amethyst. “I think Steven drew a picture of you the other day.”

“Really?” Amethyst asks. She seems rather pleased by the idea, and Steven can't help but blush at the grin she gives him.

“Oh yes.” The woman laughs. “But I hardly would have recognized you. He drew you with _purple_ skin, you know! Such an imagination!”

Amethyst laughs too, but it's definitely forced. “Oh!” she says. “That's our Steven alright!”

They leave quickly after that. Amethyst leads the boy out of the playground, through the parking-lot, and onto the side-walk. After that, she takes him into a lot of trees by the side of the road,one which hides them from the view of the pedestrians. His 'aunt' grins playfully down at him, as purple washes back over her skin. “So, Steven,” she asks. “How do you feel about apparating for the first time?”

oOoOoOo

Amethyst isn't the only one to pick Steven up from school and take care of him on the rare occasions where Greg really is just too busy. They're not as good as blending in as her, though. Amethyst is perfectly willing to change her skin colour, and to wear different clothes- the other two, not so much. Pearl has the basics down, but her outfits look a good twenty years out-of-date, and her pinkish-orange hair definitely stands out in a crowd. Garnet, meanwhile, literally _towers_ all the other parents. She knows not to wear robes, but the clothes she chooses instead are a strange mishmash of fashions that somehow make her look even stranger than her usual red robes would. She keeps her interactions with the teacher and everyone else brief and to-the-point, as if she literally doesn't know what to say to them.

Garnet doesn't talk a lot even when they are alone, Steven reflects. But that's a _different_ kind of quiet. She's just happy to let _him_ talk and sing and play. And then sometimes she'll smile at him, or ruffle his hair, or,give him a hug.

Sometimes they talk too, of course. Sometimes Steven likes to see how much he can get out of her. She's usually so quiet and serious, it feels great if he manages to startle her into laughter.

And sometimes, he just genuinely has a question he wants answered.

This one has been building up for a while, and now that they have the house completely to themselves for a couple of hours, it's the perfect time to ask. He puts down the toy car he was playing with, and says; “Garnet? You know how nobody else knows about magic?”

At the coffee table, Garnet lowers the book she's been reading. “Other people do know about magic, Steven.”

“What?” he asks. “But- I thought- Dad said- it's a secret?!”

“It _is_ a secret,” she tells him. “There are other people who know about magic, but nobody at your school. Or anybody else in Beach City. Magic is a secret from _them_.”

“Oh,” Steven says. He stares down at the red toy car, thinking. It makes sense, he supposes. It _would_ be a little strange, if they were the only people in the entire _world_ who knew about magic. And this new information doesn't really change his question, anyway. “Okay. But I was wondering... I mean I guess... Is the reason that magic is a secret from other people because they can't- _do_ it?”

The woman looks at him for several long seconds before saying, “Yes.”

“Okay,” he says again. They're both quiet for a few seconds, before he continues, “Can _Dad_ do magic?”

It had taken him a while to notice, to pick up on it. But most of the magic he's seen Garnet and Amethyst and Pearl do was with wands, and Dad doesn't even have one of those. And he never really does any of the other magic that _doesn't_  involve wands, either. He drives everywhere in his van; he never fies or apparates. He never shape-shifs like Amethyst did, or sends messages by patronous. While he loves cooking, and is perfectly find giving Steven his daily vitamins or putting on bandages, he gets nervous about potions, and so always has Pearl handle them instead.  In fact, looking back on it, Steven couldn't think of a single time where he'd seen his father cast a spell.

Garnet says, quite simply, “No. He can't.”

“...Okay,” Steven says. “But then why-?”

“-does he know about magic?” Garnet finishes. Steven nods; she explains.

Explains as well as she can, to someone Steven's age. Tells him that some people have magic, and some people do not. That many hundreds of years ago, it had been decided that it would be better if the magic was hidden, to keep people from getting hurt. People with magic have all sorts of abilities to keep themselves unnoticed by the muggles, as the non-magical people are called. They can turn things invisible, hide in tiny spaces, disguise items as other things, and even change peoples' memories.

Despite all of this, however, sometimes the lines between the two different worlds blur; children from magical families can be born without magic, and children from non-magical families can be born with it.

And of course, it's impossible to keep people _completely_ separate. There were times that muggles and magical folk _had_ to interact; there was no way around it. And sometimes bonds could form out of those interactions, and those bonds could grow very strong indeed.

“Your mother was a witch, like us,” says Garnet. “And she cared very deeply for your father, so she was allowed to tell him about her magic.”

The boy nods, then gazes up at the picture of his mother set above the fire-place. He was in no way surprised that she had been a witch, just like his 'aunts'. The Rose in the picture moves sometimes. Not a lot, but her hair will sometimes flutter in a non-existent breeze, and if there's interesting conversation going on, she'll lean in closer, as if to listen. Steven wonders if she'd bewitched the portrait herself, before she died.

But this all raises another question in his mind. He can't bear not to ask it. “Garnet,” he says. “Do _I_ have magic?”

The witch goes very still. She looks down at the boy. “We don't know, Steven,” she tells him, truthfully. “Magic often takes a long time to develop. We won't know until you're older.”

Steven's face twists into a strange expression. He's not exactly frowning, but neither does he look happy. Garnet hesitates for a moment, then gets off the chair, and squats down besides him. “What's wrong?” she asks, her voice tender.

It takes him a little while to answer. “...is it okay, if I don't have magic?”

“Oh, Steven,” Garnet says. She opens her arms wide, lets the child come in for a hug. “Of _course_ that will be okay.”

 


	3. Secrets

As Steven grows older, it becomes harder and harder for him to hide the magical aspects of his life from the muggle parts of it.

It’s not that the magical parts become more prominent, or uncontrollable, or anything like that. It’s just Steven becomes more _aware_ of them. As a child, everything was just things; now he sorts them as either Magical or Muggle. 

At first, the distinction is more _frustrating_ than anything. There are so many cool things that magic can do, but he’s not allowed to show his friends and classmates _any_ of it. Sarah, from school, decorates her backpack and her stationary and her clothes in anything unicorn-themed she can get her hands on; she things they're the most wonderful things ever. But Steven  can’t tell her that unicorns are really _real_ , that the adults are brilliant silver and the babies pure gold, and that they actually live in a forest that’s only a two-hour drive away, if she wants to go see them. He can’t show off to anyone the puppet he was given for Christmas, the one that dances and sings all on it’s own without any strings _or_ batteries, and who’s expressions changed based on the stories he tells. One night, Steven’s allowed to stay up late and listen to the Quidditch World Cup finals on the radio; the next day, all he wants to do is _scream_ about the Holyhead Harpies last-second victory, but of course, he’s not allowed to say a word about it. Not that anyone would have understood what he was talking about, anyway.

It cuts both ways, too, Steven realises. His Aunts are perfectly _allowed_ to know whatever they want about muggle culture- but for the most part, they seem completely disinterested. 

It’s not _too_ bad, really. The first time he got his entire family to sit down and watch _Frozen_ with him- well, he wished they’d been more excited by it, but when Pearl had said, “ _That’s not how weather magic even works anyway_ ” and then all three of the witches had made it snow, **inside** , during the middle of summer, and they’d all gotten to build an actual _ice-castle_ right in the living room- well, it was like he had three Elsas, all for his very own. Garnet, Amethyst and Pearl have so many cool magical things to show him and tell him about, that most of the time, the other stuff doesn’t matter.

But when _everyone_ at school is talking about football, it’s a little disheartening to come home and have everyone but his Dad dismiss the sport as ‘boring’ or ‘dull’. It’s kind of annoying, how they _always_ pick-out the magical picture books to read, even though he much prefers Dr. Suess to Beedle the Bard. (Seuss’s picture don’t move, but they’re a lot funnier, in his opinion). It’s weird, too, that they _always_ bring him home Chocolate Frogs and Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans as a treat. It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate it, of course. And it’s true, that as a kid, he really _did_ love them- it’s just that he’s eight years old now. He’s _mature_. Now he doesn’t like eating chocolate frogs, because they squirm and jump with terror- they don’t _want_ to be eaten.And honestly, Jelly Babies are a lot tastier. It’s just _nice_ to be able to stuff a handful of them into your mouth, and know you’re not going to have to deal with the sudden, unexpected horrible flavour of blood or ogre snot or something. 

Steven still tries to show them all his favourite things, like ‘ _Crying Breakfast Friends_ ’ and ‘ _Sailor Moon_ ’, and they **do**  try their best to seem interested for him, but more and more, he gets the sense that they don’t really understand _why_ he likes these things. That they’re just trying to… _indulge_ him. 

Amethyst is the one who likes muggle stuff the most. When she has time off, she likes to hang out on the couch and watch old sit-coms and actions films with him and his Dad, and she thinks that Muggle rock music is wicked. Steven asks her, once, why Pearl and Garnet don’t seem to care about muggle stuff like she does.

“Oh, don’t mind them,” Amethyst says, with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Garnet’s just Too Serious to really _get_ things like cartoons and stuff. And Pearl might have a stick up her a- _butt_ ,” Amethyst quickly covers. Steven giggles, because he is eight, and butts are inherently hilarious. “But that’s just because she’s got some baggage. Nothing you can really do about it.”

Steven’s not really sure which bags Amethyst is talking about, and why they have anything to do with his question, but he lets the matter drop.

He _still_ tries to get them to see why ‘ _Ninja Squad_ ’ is so awesome. He doesn’t succeed. 

oOoOoOo

As he gets even older, trying to keep the magical elements of his life a secret becomes downright _frustrating_.

After school, Steven usually hangs out at the local park with other kids his age. They play tag, or Cops and Robbers, or King of the Hill, or bust out their toys to share. Sometimes, they head over to somebody else’s place for a few hours, where everyone sprawls out on the couch or carpet and plays X-Box. A few times, Steven even gets _officially_ invited over for a birthday party or a sleepover, which is always so amazingly fantastic.There’s usually cake, and balloons, and they can stay up late and tell scary stories and it's just hanging out for hours. 

He never has anyone over to _his_ place, though. It occurs to Steven that this isn’t very fair or nice of him. And so, one day, he does. Without telling any of his family first.

The problem with this occurs to him when he and his friend Evan are approximately fifteen minutes away from his place. 

He stops dead in his tracks. Evan continues a long for a moment, before noticing and staring back, looking confused.   “What’s up?”

“I uh-,” says Steven. “Just gotta call home. So. Uh- so my Dad knows to make extra for dinner.”

It is approximately 4:30, and dinner is over two hours away. Evan buys it though, so Steven fishes his new mobile phone out of his pocket and quickly dials the number labelled ‘Home’.

Dad picks up. Doesn’t quite seem to understand the panic in his son’s voice when he says, “I’m brining a friend over!”, until it suddenly clicks. “ _I’ll do what I can_ ,” Dad promises, then quickly hangs up.

Steven does his best to delay. Tries to set up a ‘Who Can Walk the Slowest’ competition which Evan quickly becomes bored by. Evan is a lot more excited by the fact that Steven’s house is actually a sea-side cottage, right above a beach, but it’s too cold to swim and he’s only entertained by watching the waves for so long. Eventually, unless Steven wants to literally _hold_ the boy back, there’s no way he can stop the kid from heading into the cottage.

His Dad is standing right by the door, wearing a too-wide smile. “Steven!” he says. “And- Evan, right? Nice to see you! How was your walk? You boys thirsty?”

He shoots Steven an almost-discreet thumbs up.

Greg, it turns out, was able to get basically _all_ evidence of magic out-of-sight. The practice-broomstick that Steven had left on the living room couch has been put away; none of the magical books are on the shelves; the snacks laid out are nothing more exotic than regular crisps; the enchanted scrub brush that is usually cleaning dishes at this time of the day is nowhere to be seen, although Steven can hear a suspicious clattering from beneath the sink. Somehow, his Dad was able to get it all away in time.

“Oh, cool, a fire-place!” Evan says, and Steven’s heart skips a beat. He’s sure there’s one thing that his Dad wouldn’t have thought to put away.

He turns around quickly; and yep, there’s the painting of his Mom, hanging above the fire-place as usual. Evan doesn’t seem to have noticed it, being far more interested in the wood pile and fire iron. But he surely will notice once the picture starts _moving_. 

But it doesn’t. They stand beneath it for nearly ten minutes, as Evan inspects the poker and bellows, then asks if they can light a fire, and then talks about how all the homework they got that day _sucks_. Steven keeps one eye on the painting the whole time. It doesn’t so much as _twitch_.His mother’s long pink hair doesn’t flutter. Her eyes remain fixed forward, as if staring at a camera. Her expression remains unchanging from it’s usual, faint smile. It looks, in short, like a regular muggle painting. It seems that whatever vague sentience the portrait possesses was enough for it (her?) to realise she isn’t meant to be seen right now. 

Finally, Evan seems to get bored by the fireplace. Steven makes a comment about how he’s sure their new writing assignment won’t take _too_ long, then suggests they go hang out in his room. Evan’s cool with it, so together they head up the stairs. 

As he heads up, just out of the corner of his eye, Steven thinks he sees the portrait wink at him.

oOoOoOo

He and his Dad come up with a procedure, from then on, for when Steven wants to have people over. He makes sure his Dad knows of it over a day in advance, and together, they make sure that the entire cottage is magic-proofed, so that none of his muggle friends will notice that anything is amiss.

And it works! He can have people over, and it's super fun. They’ll eat snacks and watch movies and play with his non-enchanted toys, and it all feels wonderfully, gloriously, _normal_. 

For a while, at least.  Then, one day he walks through the doors with his friends Angelica and Shab in toe, only find Pearl standing there in the living room, next to the fully lit fire-place,  with a giant silver cauldron hanging above the roaring flames.

“ _Pearl_?” he gasps.

“Oh, hello Steven!” She turns around, smiling, until she sees who else is there. “And friends. _Ah_.”

It’s fine, Steven thinks. There’s nothing inherently _magical_ about a woman in a cloak stirring a cauldron above a fire. In the middle of October. 

“Oh, um. Hi,” says Angelica. “You’re Steven’s… aunt, right?”

“What are you doing?” asks Shab quizzically.

“Ah- she's making soup!” Steven quickly says, because Pearl appears too flustered too speak.

“…what kind of soup?” asks Shab.

“Er.” Pearl glances down at the cauldron, from where pale green smoke is rising. “Celery. Celery soup, yes.”

Almost subconsciously, everyone in the room takes a long, deep breath through their noses. The air does not smell of celery (or garlic, or pepper, or anything else normally associated with 'soup').It smells of sea brine, and vanilla, and what Steven recognises as pickled-toad liver- and something _else_ , too, impossible to name.

“It’s- it’s not going to be done for a while,” Pearl stutters. “Why don’t you all… run along to the kitchen and get some snacks?”

The two girls exchange glances, then look at Steven. He grins, and says, “Sounds good! Come on!”

He pours drinks and directs them to the snack drawer. While they rummage around in it he rushes back out to living room as stealthily as possible. “Pearl!” he hisses. “What are you doing here?”

He’s used to the witches popping in at random moments- but they usually send a message first, and anyway, it becomes a lot less common during the school year, since they’re all so busy. And Pearl certainly _looks_ busy; her usually tidy hair is dishevelled, her skin looks paler than usual, and one of her eyes is twitching slightly.

“I’m making a potion,” she says, voice tight.

Steven glances at the cauldron. “Well, yeah,” he says. “But why _here?_ ”

“This _particular_ potion calls for fresh ocean water. It then needs to be brewed within a mile of the water's source in order to achieve maximum effectiveness,” explains Pearl, temporarily slipping into her Professor Voice. “I didn’t expect there to be _muggles_ here!”

Steven blushes, and looks down at the floor. He'd told his Dad about having friends over, but he'd never thought to tell Pearl or any of the other witches. “I’m sorry,” he says. “But it’ll be fine! They’ll just-“

“Still making soup?” Shab interrupts from behind them, she and Angelica emerging from the kitchen,munching casually on a bag of crisps. 

“Yes,” Pearl and Steven say at the same time.

“Cool,” says Angelica. “I really love soup, but my family never makes it fresh. We just buy cans of the stuff.”

“Ah, well,” Pearl says with a nervous laugh. She gives her long stirring spoon a little flourish.“I can’t imagine canned and processed food is very healthy. In my experience, they key to any recipe being successful is utilising _fresh_ ingredients.”

“Oh,” says Angelica. “Um…right…”

The danger seems to have passed. As suspicious as the whole scene had appeared at first, the two visitors are willing to accept the soup story, and there are few things able to disinterest and drive-away young children as quickly as a lecture on Healthy Eating from a friend's strange parent/aunt. Within another minute, they would have all left to go hang out in Steven’s room, leaving Pearl to finish her potion before surreptitiously slipping away, and that would have been that.

Except, before any of that could happen, a brilliant silver shape suddenly appears in the centre of the room.

It's huge, far taller even than Pearl, its mighty head grazing the ceiling’s rafters as it looms over the woman and her cauldron. It’s the giant muscular form of a bear, only composed entirely out of light. Though not _exactly_ a bear. Instead of fur, its body is covered in thick sparkling feathers; and when the children shield their eyes against the brightness, they are just able to make out the shape of huge wings folded on it’s back. And where a bear would usually have a muzzle, it instead has a long, razor-sharp beak. That beak opens, and the apparition speaks. 

“ _Another three students have caught the scrofungulus_ ,” the patronus says with what is clearly Garnet’s voice. “ _Madame Pomfrey fears it’s a full scale out-break. We’ll need at least twice as much of the remedy as previously requested._ ”

Pearl stares at Garnet’s magical messenger, then nods. Everyone else in the room is simply wide-eyed, Rose’s portrait above the fire-place included. The two girls gasp with amazement. Not because of the shock of seeing the patronus- he’s seen Garnet’s owl-bear before- but because he knows that his friends shouldn’t have. 

The patronus hears the gasps. It turns towards their source. Or rather, it's  _head_ does, swivelling around on it’s neck in a full ninety degree angle two stare down at the three awe-struck children. For another moment it stands there, watching them with huge, avian eyes. Then, without a sound, it simply dissolves into light, vanishing.

For several long moments, the only sounds in the cottage are that of crackling flames and bubbling potion. _Then_ - 

“What was _that_?!” exclaims Angelica, staring at where the massive patronus stood. Shab, meanwhile,  _swears_ , saying a word that a child her age really shouldn’t know, let alone _use_.

Pearl, who’s usually the only to crack down on that kind of thing, doesn’t even seem to notice. She just sighs, running her free hand through her hair. “Why don’t you sit down, girls.”

“You have to tell us what that- that _thing_ was!” says Shab.

“And I will,” Pearl assures them. “But I’m afraid this potion is time-sensitive. Give me another ten minutes, then I’ll explain everything.”

“So it _isn’t_ a soup after all!” exclaims Shab victoriously.

Steven stands there, looking thoroughly shocked. “But Pearl,” he says, “I thought-"

“Steven,” Pearl cuts him off. “Why don’t you get your friends sitting down, and go make them some tea.”

It’s the kind of tone which broaches no argument. Steven gets Angelica and Shab to sit down on the couch; the two are fine with it, as long they’re still able to watch the witch working at her potion. Reluctantly, Steven goes to the kitchen. Puts on the kettle, grabs a couple random tea-bags, dunks them in some mugs. He prepares the tea quickly, barely letting it steep. He considers asking his friends how they like theirs, then decides against it; he just mixes in some milk and a spoonful of sugar into both cups. He brings the mugs back out to the living room and sets them down on the coffee table. Shay nods at him, but doesn’t bother picking hers up. Angelica grabs hers and takes a small sip, but it’s clear all her focus is really on Pearl.

He takes a seat next to them. They watch Pearl work. She stirs the potion with a highly specific motion; three rotations clockwise, two counter-clockwise, again and again. Eventually, she sees something change in the potion, and puts down the spoon. She leans down, and from the bag on the floor produces a small vial filled with a red powder. She carefully takes out a pinch; drops the powder into the cauldron. Red smoke blossoms upwards, filling the entire room; for a brief moment, everything smells _scorched_. But the smoke fades quickly, and when it does, Pearl is already back to her methodical stirring.

After what must be _exactly_ ten minutes, Pearl removes the stirring spoon once more, placing it on the flagstone. Then, from one of her robe pockets, she pulls out her wand. It’s long, carved from a pale white wood, with delicate blue spirals running upwards towards the point. Steven’s often admired it. Pearl waves it gently at the fire, and the flames shrink. Pearl nods with satisfaction. “Now it simply needs to simmer for another two hours.”

She strides towards the couch where the children are sitting. Waiting. Angelica and Shab are staring with undisguised awe. 

“ _Cool_ ,” breathes Angelica.

“What was that thing?” asks Shab, never one to be distracted. “From before.”

“ _That_ ,” says Pearl, “was a patronus. A magical guardian, composed entirely of positive thoughts and emotions. Exceedingly useful, but only able to be cast by the most powerful of witches and wizards.”

“Is that what you are then? A witch?” asks Shab.

Pearl nods.

Angelica points to the long white stick still being held in the woman’s hand. “And is that your wand? Do you use it to cast spells?”

“That’s correct,” Pearl says, a faint smile on her lips. Steven can hardly believe it as she says, “Would you like to see me use it?”

There’s no question, of course. The two girls nod vigorously, even letting out a low _squee_ of excitement. Angelica quickly put her barely-touched mug of tea back on the table, clasping her hands to her chest with anticipation. Steven, too, feels excited, though he’s seen magic many times before. He isn’t sure why Pearl was doing this- he thought it wasn’t _allowed_ \- but if it is, after all, it will be so _wonderful_ , finally getting to share this with his friends, after all this time-

Pearl flicks her want in a tight, precise pattern, then aims it right at Shab and says, “ _Obliviate_!”

A sharp green light shoots out of the wand; hits the girl directly in the head. Angelica screams with terror as her friend’s face goes blank. Before she can do anything, though, before _Steven_ can do anything, Pearl flicks her wand once more, speaks the spell again, and another flash of green arcs out to hit Angelica. All tension leaves her body immediately, and she slumps backwards onto the couch.

“ANGELICA!” Steven screamed, as he rushed the girl’s side. “SHAB!”

He pokes at them, stares right into their faces. Their eyes are open, but they’re just staring forward blankly, pupils dilated, as though they have no idea he’s there.That _anything_ is there. It's as though they’re sleeping, or, **or** - 

He feels his eyes burn with tears.

“ _What did you do_?!” he wails.

“ _Steven_ ,” Pearl says, her voice sorrowful, yet somehow still reassuring. “Don’t worry, they’re both fine. It was just a memory charm, nothing else.”

Steven sniffles, looks between his aunt and his non-conscious friends. “They’ll- they’ll be okay?”

Pearl comes over, places a comforting hand on his shoulder. “They’ll be _fine_ ,” she promises. “A little disoriented, but that will wear off quickly. Trust me.”

Steven nods, meeting her eyes. Pearl wouldn't lie to him.

“Oh, Steven, I’m sorry,” she says. “But it _had_ to be done. If I hadn’t, then-"

Shab begins to stir, and Pearl’s mouth shuts quickly. She retreats back behind the couch, hastily stuffing her wand into her pocket. A moment later, Angelica starts ‘waking up’ too.

Both girls are blinking, but neither clutch their heads as if they’re in _pain_ or anything. They just look… confused. Like they just woke up from a deep sleep, and aren’t sure if they’re still dreaming or not.

Once her mind manages to ‘re-boot’, Shab’s eyes dart around the room, finally focusing again. Angelica opens and closes her mouth a couple times before groaning, “Ugh, what…?”

“Steven was just about to show you his room,” Pearl says helpfully. 

Slowly, the two girls blink again. They process this.

“Oh. Yeah. Right,” says Shab. She looks at the coffee table in front of her, then picks up her now-cold tea, taking a sip. She gets up, as does Angelica, who grabs her own mug. Steven has no choice to follow.Then, he realises, he has no choice but to _lead_ , and show the two girls the way to his room, and act like none of this has happened. Awkwardly, he points them in the right direction, giving Pearl a quick glance. 

“Good luck with your soup!” Angelica calls back as they start up the stairs.

All up his arm, Steven feels his skin prickle. He makes himself keep walking, and does not look back at Pearl. 


	4. Growing Pains

Upstairs in the bedroom, the three children get right down to the serious business of play- or, at least, the two guests do. Steven feels rather like a silent observer to it all; as though the games and stories they acted out are just cartoons he’s watching on the TV, and he’s just sitting on the couch, unable and unwilling to participate. 

Half-an-hour ago, they’d been watching a witch brew a potion, and about to have the truth of the magical world explain to them. Now, it’s like it had never even happened. How is he supposed to just… play along? 

But then Angelica does something silly which makes her laugh so hard that she rolls on the floor giggling for a full five minutes, and Shab shoves a toy horse firmly into Steven’s hand and orders him to actually start playing the game _properly_ , _with voices_ , and soon the boy finds himself caught up in the fun of it all after all, and it turns out that the _playing_ part of ‘playing along’ isn’t so tough, after all. 

At least until it starts to grow dark outside, and the girls sit bolt upright, realising they have to rush home before it gets too late. Steven walks with them down the stairs, back to the living room-  
  
-which is empty. There is no sign of Pearl. The cauldron and the potion are gone. The fire is out; the hearth has been tidied so there isn’t even any charcoal or ashes left in it. Steven thinks that he can still smell traces of the potion’s strange scent, and his mouth suddenly feels very dry.

But if the air does smell strange, Angelica and Shab don’t notice. They just tell Steven they’ll see him at school tomorrow, wave goodbye, and run off down the beach, leaving him alone with the empty fire-place. 

oOoOoOo

He isn’t alone for long, however. His Dad arrives home not long after his friends left, Garnet and Pearl in tow. The latter two don’t apparate or floo in; they just walk through the front door behind Greg, which is unusual in of itself.Garnet looks as calm and unflustered as always, but Pearl is wringing her hands nervously. 

They all sit down at the kitchen table for a Talk. Steven can definitely feel the capital T there, before they even begin. Pearl starts off by apologising once more for what she’d had to do to Steven’s friends. She explains how there’s a nasty illness going around Hogwarts and how she had been brewing the cure. Then they remind him about how muggles are forbidden from knowing about magic; explained how it’s all based on an ancient law called the Statue of Secrecy, and how very hard witches and wizards around the world work to uphold it. 

“It was best that I obliviated them then and there,” says Pearl. “Or else they might have let something slip. Sooner or later, someone from the Ministry would have caught wind, and then-” 

“Someone else would have done it anyway,” Garnet finishes, firmly. 

“That’s just the way it has to be, Steve-o,” Dad says with a sympathetic shrug.

Steven struggles to put his thoughts into words. “But I thought you _were_ allowed to tell somebody. If you cared about them a lot,” he protests. “Like how Mom told Dad! And Shab and Angelica are my **friends**! I want them to know about my magic! And my other friends, too!”

Pearl’s lips are pressed into a thin line. Greg is looking down at the table, tracing patterns in the wood with a finger. “It needs to be a different kind of care,” says Garnet, softly. “Wait until you’re older.”

“How _much_ older?” presses Steven.

“Older.”

He can tell there is to be no argument. 

Magic is to be kept secret. That’s just the way things were. They would all just have to work harder to prevent such incidents from happening in the future.

“Understand?” asks Pearl.

“Yeah,” Steven mutters. But he still doesn’t, not really.

oOoOoOo

Steven still brings friends over, after that, but they have to be much more tightly scheduled. Everyone in his family has to be informed of visits before-hand. No impromptu guests.

Even with the new system in place, there are still a few close calls. A preoccupied Pearl, who’d lost track of time, apparates into the living room when muggles are over; thankfully, they’re all watching a movie, right in the middle of a scary chase scene, eyes glued to the screen, screaming in fear, so no-one notices. Another time, Amethyst simply _forgets_. She wanders into the house shaped like a cat. She has to spend almost an hour being stroked and cuddled as Steven’s friends admire his ‘new pet’. (Actually, Amethyst seemed to quite like the admiration, at least at first- but the novelty has definitely worn off by the time she finally manages to streak away). One time Garnet comes over at the same time as a couple of Steven’s friends, almost managing a perfect muggle disguise… except for the fact that her hair is gently smoking. The only thing that saves them from probing/horrified questions from the guests is the fire-alarm going off, and everyone getting distracted during the desperate attempts to shut it off.

With every incident, Steven brings his muggle friends over less and less. It’s too risky, he thinks.

He can still remember that bright jet of green light shooting from Pearl’s wand; Angelica and Shab falling backwards, their faces suddenly slack, their eyes empty and distant. It leaves him unsure and shivering.

He never wants to see that happen to anyone every again. 

oOoOoOo

Steven still hangs out with his non-magical friends at school, though, or at the park, or over at their houses. When he does, all the secrets and lies seem to face away.

After all, he isn’t a witch, or wizard. Not really. He’s just a kid, like them. 

oOoOoOo

At least, until the magic inside of him finally decides to flare up.

He’s nine years old, nearly ten- and so far, he still hasn’t performed the tiniest tick of magic. (Or, if he has, it’s the subtle, quiet kind of magic that nobody notices, not even its caster).

This is anything but subtle.

It happens during lunchtime at school. Usually Steven has packed lunches, but every Friday he buys his meals at the cafeteria. They’re good school lunches, as far as these things go; they’re warm, and tasty, and relatively healthy. But more importantly, there’s this shared kind of community that comes from chatter in the queue, trays in hand, that Steven really likes about it all. 

That day it’s Mac’n’Cheese, with breadcrumbs on top, and carrot sticks on the side, with a little carton of milk to drink. And for desert, his favourite treat in the whole wide world, Cookie Cat. 

“No Cookie Cats,” the lunch lady informs him. “Not today, and not ever again.”

Steven stares. “What?” he says. Above him, the lights flicker slightly. 

Behind the counter, the lunch-lady shrugs. “They stopped making ‘em. Sorry, kiddo. But we’ve got some nice biscuits for dessert, instead.”

The flickering of the lights becomes stronger. Then, Steven starts to yell. 

His little ‘ _no_ ’ begins quietly enough, then grows louder and louder, past the boundaries of the Indoor Voice into a full out scream, before reaching a full-throated wail of despair.

Once the grief-scream reached its crescendo, Steven probably would have been told off by the nearest teacher. This doesn’t happened, because, at that precise moment, the flickering lights go off completely, and the cafeteria is plunged into darkness.  

Some children scream and panic, while others laugh with glee at the exciting turn of events. A couple kids even attempt to start an impromptu food fight, though it doesn’t get far, since they can’t see their targets. Teachers try to restore order- keeping students in their seats, reassuring them everything’s alright, trying to get the lights back on. They are fairly successful at the first two, but the lights remained dark, no matter what they try.

In the ensuing chaos and confusion, Steven stands there with his tray, mouth open in silent surprise, and an uncomfortable feeling in his gut that he caused it all.  

oOoOoOoOo

In the end, they never do manage to get the lights working. They ring up the school’s mechanic, who mutters about a blown fuse, but when he goes to investigate the wiring, that doesn’t seem to be the problem. _Nothing_ seems to be the problem actually. The wiring, the circuitry, the bulbs themselves- everything-all appears to be in perfect working condition. Except, of course, for the obvious fact that it’s **not** working.  

It takes a long time to get through lunch. It’s one of those typical, gloomy, rainy English days outside, so the cafeteria windows offer very little in the way of light. Even after managing to scrounge up some torches, it’s difficult to see, which makes it pretty tough getting the food handed out. It’s not just the lights, either, but all the electrical devices in the cafeteria, from the ovens to the refrigerators. By the time everyone’s gotten something to eat, most of the food is cold. Kitchen staff are desperately trying to salvage what food they can from the freezers before everything thaws out or goes bad. A lot of it will have to be thrown away, they say. 

Steven watches his friends poke at their cold pasta, the cheese having congealed. He knows that for some of them, school lunch is the best meal they’ll get all day.

He doesn’t feel hungry anymore.

Greg’s the one to pick Steven up, though he comes later than usual, due to an unexpectedly busy day at the car wash.He ushers a surprisingly sheepish son into his van, wondering if he should ask what’s wrong, or give Steven some space.

Funnily enough, as soon as the van leaves the parking lot, the cafeteria electricity comes back on. None of the faculty notice the cause-and-effect. They just scratch their heads, throw up their hands, and call it a day. Some things just can’t be explained. 

oOoOoOoOo

Steven explains what happened to his dad on the ride back, shame-faced. Greg gives his son a smile, says that it’s alright, and floos Hogwarts as soon as they got home.

The witches’ reaction to Steven’s first display of accidental magic are nothing like the boy’s own. They rush over as soon as they can. 

“Way to go!” Amethyst says as she ruffles Steven’s hair. 

“We are so _proud_ ,” gushes Pearl.

“Nice job,” Garnet agrees, giving a thumbs up.

“But,” protests Steven. “I ruined lunch! Everyone was scared! A whole bunch of food’s gonna go bad ‘cause of me-”

“Pff,” says Amethyst. “Who cares about some food? You can just make more. And scaring kids is like, the best.”

Pearl frowns. “Amethyst, you’re supposed to be a _teacher_ , remember?”

Amethyst shrugs. “Your point?”

That gets a grin out of Steven.

Garnet squats down so she’s eye level with him, and places a warm hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Steven,” she says, “ a child’s magic is wild and unrestrained. It responds to someone’s desires and needs- but not always in ways that the bearer would choose. You’re not to blame for the power outage at school.”

“And anyway,” Greg adds, “Nobody got hurt or anything.”

“Yeah, man,” says Amethyst. “You just chased a little chaos. That’s like, _all_ my magic did when I was a kid. Once, I got everybody panicking so bad that I was rushed to hospital and quarantined in my own special room, it was great.  

Pearl scowls. “Not all childhood magic is like that. For example,” she says, turning back to Steven as Garnet straightened. “When I first met your mother, she was bringing dying flowers back to life.” 

“Woah,” Steven breathes, trying to imagine it. That’s the kind of magic _he’d_ like to be able to do.   

“You performed your first magical working, Steven,” Garnet says. “And that deserves a gift.” 

Steven perks up, and looks around the room, suddenly bubbling with excitement. “Woah? A gift? Where!”

The adults are all smiling. “It’s in the freezer,” says Greg.

The boy runs off to the kitchen immediately, his family following, grinning at his total mood-reversal. He grabs a chair so he can reach the freezer, flinging the door open- and what he sees makes his eyes fill with stars. “COOKIE CATS!”

An entire freezer, just filled with Cookie Cats. And since it’s bigger on the inside, that is saying a lot. “Where- where did you even get these?” he asks. “I thought they stopped making them!” 

Pearl laughs, twirling a hand in the air. “Yes, well, we heard that too, and since they’re your favourite-” 

“We went out and stole a bunch!” Amethyst cries. 

“You _didn’t_ ,” says Greg.  

“I went back and paid for them,” Pearl explains, glaring. “With _real_ money, too, not Leprechaun gold-”

“The whole plan was my idea,” says Garnet. 

“It was everyone’s idea,” says Amethyst, leaning against a counter. 

“Not really.”

Greg sighs. 

Steven barely seems to notice the bickering. He brakes out into an impromptu performance of the Cookie Cat jingle, practically yelling the verses with an infectious enthusiasm; once he finishes, he rips one of the packages open, and shoves the ice-cream sandwich right into his mouth.  

“So good,” he says, through a mouth filled with ice-cream. “Thanks so much, you guys are the greatest-”

He’s smiling so brightly that he seems to glow with sheer. 

No- he is actually glowing, everyone in the room realizes. His entire body is shining with a faint pink light, one that’s growing steadier and stronger by the second. Everyone gasps, grins. Steven stares down at his hands, his eyes wide. Pink motes of light hang in the air around him. “More magic!”

He’s wrapped in a five-way hug, which makes it kind of difficult to finish his ice-cream, but he doesn’t mind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I finally finished! Particuarly big shout-out to Kurozu501 on Tumblr, for helping me keep focused on this and keeping me encouraged, and to LadyRavenEye for giving me suggestions to get through the writers' block. 
> 
> Next up... Steven gets his Hogwarts Letter and takes a trip to Diagon Alley.


	5. Shopping Trip

On a summer morning in the year that Steven turns eleven, a grey owl lands on the front deck of an ocean cottage, in broad day light.

Steven happens to be passing when it comes by. His face lights up when he sees it. He gets especially excited when he notices what’s tied to its leg— not the usual bundle of the Daily Prophet, but a thick-parchment letter bearing a very familiar seal. His fingers stumble a little in his excitement as he unties it. The owl hoots in annoyance at his slowness. “Sorry, sorry,” Steven says. He feels around in his jean pockets, and finds a granola bar. He feeds the owl a piece of it, which seems to satisfy it. A moment later, it takes off with a rustle of wings, and Steven calls after it, “Thank you!”

He runs into the house. It’s a Sunday, so the car wash is closed, and Dad’s sitting in the living room with a mug of coffee, reading the regular muggle paper. He starts a little when Steven screams, “DAD! IT’S HERE, IT’S HERE!”

“Yikes, Steven,” he says, with a chuckle. “Indoor voice. What’s here?”

“My Hogwarts Letter!”

“Woah! Congrats! Let me see!”

Steven shows it off with pride:

_Steven Quartz Universe_  
_The Loft Bedroom_  
_Temple Beach House_  
_Beach City_  
_Devon, England, United Kingdom_

His name and his address, sitting right below a crest depicting a lion, a snake, an eagle, a badger, and an ornate Letter H.

He waits for the witches to come before opening it. It doesn’t take long. They appear in the fireplace with a roar of flames and a puff of green smoke. They knew it was going to arrive, of course. Garnet knows about every student coming to her school, and Pearl was the one who signed each and every acceptance letter. They still beam with pride as he pries it open. There’s hair ruffling. Amethyst gives him a bag filled with Bertie Botts Every Flavoured Beans, and tricks Pearl eating one flavoured like Hippogriff feathers. She rolls off the couch from laughing while Pearl splutters. Greg gets Pearl a glass of water to wash out the flavour, and in the chaos, Garnet plants a gentle kiss on Steven’s forehead.

“Anyway, Steven, do you know what this means?” Pearl asks, once she’s calmed down.

“I’m going to Hogwarts?”

“True,” says Garnet.

“Nah,” answers Amethyst at the same time. “It means: shopping!”

oOooOoO

Throughout his childhood, Steven had had a handful of visits to Diagon Alley, each one met with rapturous excitement. Diagon Alley was, quite possibly, the coolest place in the entire world, as far as Steven was concerned. He loved he wizards and witches openly wandering down the street, talking about monsters and magic freely. He loved how everyone paid with shiny gold and silver coins instead of boring paper and plastic. He loved seeing the sky filled with hooting owls, and how cats prowled the alleyways. He loved the baskets that carried themselves. He loved the shops filled with potion ingredients, all weird and gnarled, some beautiful, some ugly, all awesome. He loved Weasley Wizards Wheezes, filled with the most ridiculous jokes and pranks and toys imaginable. He loved the immense, towering shape of Gringotts Bank, though he wasn’t sure if he liked the goblins inside, who were all so still and serious and hated noise and mess even more than Pearl, and weren’t nearly as nice about it.

But especially, he loved the adventure of it. Every single trip to Diagon Alley had been like a secret mission. He’d dress up in robes, first of all, which was special in of itself. Then Amethyst would cast a spell on him which would be all cold and tingly,and when he looked in the mirror, the person staring back would look completely different. Maybe his hair would be white, or red, shorter or longer, or less curly. He might be taller or shorter, thinner or fatter, and sometimes his skin would be different, too. Once, Amethyst let him be green, until Garnet made her change his skin into a tannish brown. Amethyst would shape shift into something, different, too, an adult who matched him. They’d choose fake name. Steven was usually just Steve, but Amethyst could be anything, and they played a game of coming up with the perfect name for her disguise.

This time, though, there would be no disguise. He’d be going as regular old Steven, even if he would be wearing a pair of nice robes over his usual t-shirt and jeans. Amethyst wouldn’t be coming this time, but Pearl— and _Dad_. Dad’s never come with him before, ever ever. Steven can’t wait to show him everything. 

“I’m still not sure if this is a good idea,” Pearl muttered, wringing her hands. “What if-”

“Chill P,” Amethyst says. “He’s going to Hogwarts in, like, a month. Everyone’s gonna know anyway.”

Pearl bites her lip. “But what if—“

Garnet lays a hand on her shoulder. “He’ll be fine. You’ll be fine.”

Steven’s not sure what Pearl’s worried about, but nobody else seems concerned, so he just says, “This is gonna be great!”

“Sure will, kiddo,” Dad says, while he lets Steven pull him in front of the fire place. He bobs there excitedly while they wait for Pearl. She sighs, adjusting the wand hanging from her belt, then reaches for the pouch of floo powder that sits on the sill.

“Do you remember how to do this, Steven? Greg?”

“Yep!” says Steven, as his Dad shoots a shy thumbs up. Nonetheless, Pearl insists on going first, to demonstrate. Steven doesn’t falter at all when he follows a moment after, throwing a handful of green powder into the fire, walking in, and shouting, “DIAGON ALLEY”.

Travelling by floo is kind of like riding a roller coaster, except there’s no seat restraints and a lot more smoke. He’s kind of dizzy when he steps into the foyer of the Leaky Cauldron, but grinning ear-to-ear. Greg appears a moment later, looking like he might throw up.

“Phew,” he says.

“Are you both alright?” Pearl asks, as she bends down to inspect Steven. They both say, “Fine,” but Pearl only pulls away once she’s assured herself that boy really is in one piece. It’s nice, but kind of annoying. Steven is eleven now! He knows how to travel by fireplace. 

“Let’s get going,” Pearl says. “First thing’s first— we’re going to the bank.”

People are staring them. That’s different. People have never stared at them before. Whenever Steven notices a witch or wizard watch, Steven waves at them. Some glance away quickly, but others wave back, or smile at him.

The barman, old Tom, greets them brightly. “Professor Magpantay,” he says. “Not staying for a drink, I’m guessing.”

Pearl gives him a wan smile. “You guess correctly. I’m on Hogwarts business.”

“So I see,” says Tom, giving her companions a long, thoughtful look. “Showing a muggleborn around?”

“Ah, well—” begins Pearl, while his Dad stiffens. 

Steven notices none of this before blurting out, “I’m not a muggleborn.”

“Y’er not, eh?” says Tom. A few of the bar’s patrons are listening, curious.

“Nope! My mom was a witch.”

Tom leans back. “I see.” Whispers roll around the room. Steven only manages to catch snatches off them, before Tom asks, “What’s your name then, boy?”

“Steven.”

The whispers aren’t whispers anymore, and next thing he knows, he’s being swamped by wizards and witches from all sides, smiling at him, shaking his hand, pulling him into hugs—

“Mr. Quartz, a pleasure, absolutely a pleasure,” says one.

“Off to school, huh? You’ll blow us all away, I’m sure,” says a tiny little witch.

A wizard so pale that he might be a vampire looms, saying, “An honour, a true honour-”

“Got your wand yet?”

“Where have you been hiding away then?”

“Can I see the scar?” asks a wizard, pulling at Steven’s robes.

Pearl pulls him away with a surprising show of strength. “No,” she say sharply. “He will not be undressing. And, if you please, we have things to get done, so. Greg, Steven. Let’s go.”

Steven manages an awkward smile and a tiny wave everyone before Pearl grabs him by the hand. His Dad takes the other one, and they half tow him out of the bar into the street outside. Steven’s confused. He’s not sure why all those people suddenly wanted to talk to him, or were acting so weird, or were calling him by his middle name, or why they wanted to see his scar.

Steven doesn’t think about his scar much, but he’s always felt it’s kind of cool. Where other kids have a belly button, he instead has a shiny bright red circle of weirdly smooth, shiny flesh. It looks pretty wicked. He was told he got it when his mom saved his life as a baby, which makes it super special.

He’s never been uncomfortable about it— he’s always been fine wearing swimming trunks and stuff. But suddenly he’s not sure if he wants strangers to see it.

“This is exactly what I was afraid of,” Pearl is muttering.

“Yeah, well, it’s nothing we didn’t expect,” says Greg. “Come on. Bank first, right?”

Pearl sighs. “Right.”

The goblin at the bank counter seems even grumpier than usual, glaring at Greg while it waits for him to extract a keychain from the bottom of his pockets. Finally, though, he picks the key-ring (shaped like a guitar), and stares critically at the small, shiny pink key, before nodding decisively. It nods, too, at the small piece of paper that Pearl slides across the paper to him. Then, it leads the three of them through the massive doors which lead to the bank vaults beyond. Really far beyond; you gotta ride in these mine carts to get to them. Steven loves that part . It’s like the scariest, most magical roller-coaster ever!

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Greg grumbles as they take a track veers sharply down and to the left. Pearl says nothing, but her fingers are curled around the bars, knuckles white, cheeks a pale blue. Steven just puts his arms up in the air, whoops as they go down a steep dive, and tries to spot the dragon Amethyst says lives there.

Soon enough the cart comes to a stop, and they arrive at the door to his mother’s vault. The goblin leads them up the walkway to the massive metallic door, watching carefully as Greg slides the key into the lock. Theentire thing glows with a pink-bronze light, then swings open.

Steven remembers the first time he saw the vault. It looked like something from a fairy tale; piles of gold and silver, glittering jewels, shiny swords, racks of ancient armour. He tried to dive in and swim through it, just like that rich duck from that one old cartoon, only to discover that it’s a lot harder to do in real life. This time, he just stands there with his eyes wide, drinking it all in. His mom must have been really rich, his supposes. Maybe she lived in a castle. (Besides Hogwarts, of course. Like a family castle or something). 

Despite all the wealth, when Pearl bends down, she only fills a single small bag with galleons, sickles, and knuts. She eyes it critically, then says, “That should be sufficient for now.”

After that, they’re on there way again, our the vault door, back into the cart. Steven expects them to go back to the surface… but after a few exhilarating minutes he realises that they’re only going _deeper_ into the great underground maze of tunnels. 

“Is this your vault?” he asks Pearl, when they finally roll to a stop. He’s never seen hers before, or this part of the Gringotts at all, though of course the place is supposed to be super huge. 

“No,” says Pearl. 

It’s very dark down here, and cold. The only sound is the distant dripping of water from stalactites. There’s only a single vault in sight, and it takes the form as a single, plain door built out of the rocky wall. 

Now Pearl fixes him with a very intense stare. “This isn’t personal. It’s… Hogwarts business. And it’s a secret, Steven. It’s very important that you don’t mention it to anyone. Do you understand?”

Steven nods, seriously. He’s gotten good at keeping secrets. 

He stands besides his Dad as Pearl and the goblin (Gryphook he said his name was) step towards the small door. At least,Steven thinks it’s a door. He can see no doorknob, no lock. The goblin takes a single, long finger, and runs it down the doors surface. There’s a low hum, and then, the door seems to melt away.

Steven tries to peer into the vault beyond. It looks no larger than a broom closet, and less impressive. There’s only a single thing inside; a small, heavily wrapped package. Pearl picks it up, stows it away in her cloak, then turns on her heel. She and the goblin step out of the room, and the door seals itself up.

He burns with curiosity, but Pearl said that it was a secret, so he does not ask. He simply enjoys the wild cart ride back to the surface, and by the time he’s stepping back into the sunlight of Diagon Alley, he’s practically forgotten the whole thing. There’s so much else to do!

They start with Madame Malkin, where Steven is fitted for new robes. He already has a few fancy dress robes, but he obviously can’t wear them from day-to-day, and so he only ever brings them out for special occasions, like Halloween and birthdays. Madam Malkin is a friendly, older witch who chats with him happily even as measuring tapes fly around, briskly taking measurements. Steven does his best not to squirm with impatience. Getting clothes this way isn’t nearly as fast as just going to a store where everything is pre-made and labelled by size, but her enchanted needles work quickly, and it isn’t long until Steven has several sets of his official Hogwarts uniform: robes, hat, (temporarily) plain white ties.

Next are school supplies. Pearl knows them inside out. She walks confidently from shop to shop, helping Steven pick up the required quills, inks, parchment, books, and of course, cauldron. She doesn’t bother carrying any of it, just places down an order for it to be delivered straight to Steven’s house. 

Steven can’t help but get… distracted. And not just by all the random people who keeps staring at him and whispering. Magical school stuff is cool, sure, but there’s so many other awesome things! One store has a globe of the Earth enchanted so you can see the clouds and weather patterns moving across it in real time. The broom shop, where Steven fantasizes about getting to ride on a proper broomstick for the first time ever, soaring way above the quidditch pitch, quaffle under his arm. There’s the pet emporium, where Steven presses his face against the glass, cooing over the owls, cats, mice, toads. He’s begged his family for a pet before, arguing that with an owl he’d be be able to send mail, but Dad had said, “ _Having a pet’s a lot of responsibility Steven_ ,” and Pearl had said, “ _There’s plenty of perfectly good owls at Hogwarts you can use,_ ” and Garnet had said, “ _Maybe when you’re older_ ,” so it doesn’t seem as if they’re budging. Neither is he allowed to get a pygmy puff— in fact, Pearl was pretty dead set about him going into Weasley Wizard Wheezes joke-shop at all, but he put on his biggest puppy dog face, and Greg couldn’t say no. Father and son wander the place with joyous wonder, marvelling at the magical fireworks and enchanted quills, while Pearl glares daggers and mutters about love potions under her breath.

These are are all just diversions, of course. Nothing compared to what he’s _really_ excited to get.

His wand.

He’s practically shivering with anticipation by the time they reach the store with the sign proclaiming: _Ollivanders. Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC_. 

There’s a tinkling of a bell as they step inside. The shop is gloomy, cramped, dust motes catching the watering sunlight filtering through the ancient glass windows. The storefront is small, but inside, row after row of shelves seem to stretch into infinity. Steven stares around with wide eyes. The shopkeeper emerges from the darkness.

The Ollivanders are an old family, stretching back nearly two-thousand years. The witch standing before them is only the most recent in a long line of successors. Steven can remember when the last owner of the shop had passed away several years ago, even though he’d never met him. His obituary had been in the Daily Prophet, and Pearl had gasped aloud when she’d read it. Amethyst and Garnet had been affected, too— the man had apparently made the wands of almost every single witch and wizard in Britain for the last seventy years or something, including themselves. 

(“It’s not exactly much of a surprise,” Amethyst had said, as she’d chewed on some toast. “I mean, the guy was _ancient_.”

“He could have lived a lot longer, if not for…” Pearl had trailed off.

“Sush,” Garnet had said.)

This witch seems pretty old herself, Steven thinks. She walks in a slow little shuffle. Her face is lined with wrinkles, like a piece of faded tissue paper; her eyes are milk white; her hair is like silver cobwebs. “Greetings.”

“Hi,” says Steven. 

“Hello,” says Greg.

“Mistress Ollivander,” says Pearl.

The witch observes her. “Pearl Magpantay, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

Ollivander tilts her head, as if staring at something that no one else can see. “Nine inches. Hemlock wood, unicorn hair core. Inflexible. Correct?”

“Why- yes,” says Pearl, a little flustered. “But-?”

Ollivander smiles. “I may not have sold as many wands as my father, but I did help him make a great deal of them. He would tell me when they found their match. Tell me; it has suited you well, has it not?”

“Yes,” Pearl says. “Yes, wonderfully.”

“Excellent.” Ollivander turns her strange, other-worldly gaze onto Steven. “Then let us hope that today is equally successful. Steven Universe, I do be believe?”

“Yep, that’s my name!”

He holds out his hand. The wand maker takes it. Her fingers are thin, blue veins visible beneath the pale skin, but her grip is surprisingly tight. Thankfully, she lets go quickly, and pulls out her own tape-measure, taking the length of his arm. Then spins around, vanishing behind the counter, into the infinity of shelves. She returns some time later, laden down with about a dozen long boxes. 

Steven’s grinning with glee as he’s handed his first wand— a short, reddish stick, which Ollivander says is made from maple and dragon heart-strings. He holds it, waiting for the rush of power he was surely expecting but…

… nothing happens. 

“Not to worry, Steven,” Pearls says, seeing his downcast expression. “We’re hardly going to find the right one on the first try.”

“Indeed,” Ollivander agrees, shuffling through the boxes. “The wand chooses the witch, after all. Or wizard, as the case may be.”

The next one is holly, five inches, hippogriff feathers in the centre. When he grips it, Steven feels a shiver run up his arm; some of the dust in the air around him flickers gold for a moment. A thoughtful expression passed across Ollivander’s face, and she put the wand aside for later, before handing him another. The next wand, hawthorn and phoenix feather, has an even more dramatic affect; a brief snatch of music briefly fills the room before fading. Ollivander takes that one away from him, too, however, saying only, “We’re on the right track.”

It takes a while. He’s given lots of different wands, with of all sorts of woods and centres. Some do nothing at all when he holds them; others cause violent sparks or made him feel strange and light headed. Others, yet, react very weirdly indeed, throwing boxes around the room, or pulling him forward, like a too-eager dog anxious to get off its leash. Each and every one is taken away from him, Ollivander seemingly unsatisfied by the results.

The thrill loses his edge. He was starting to wonder if he’ll find the right wand at all. His Dad ruffles his hair, offering silent support. 

For the fourth time, Ollivander disappears into the back of the shop in search of something else; this time, however, she returns with only a single box. She says nothing as she hands it to him.

It is a medium-sized wand, relatively thin. Its central body is made from a reddish wood with almost pink undertones, while the handle is tan wood so pale that it’s practically white. Its design is simple, lacking much in the way of decoration— the handle’s even unpolished,almost appearing as though it was plucked freshly from the tree— but something about that just makes it seem prettier.

Steven takes it from the box, and the effect is instantaneous. A faint wind plays around him, catching his robes, tickling at his skin, and a pale pink glow emanates from the wand, somehow filling the entire room. He tightens his grip around the wood, just in case Ollivander tries to take it from him, as well. “This is it,” he says. “I’m sure.”

Ollivander simply nods. Greg and Pearl beam.

“What is it?” Pearl asks, eyeing the wand.

“It’s a dual wood wand,” answers Ollivander. “Cherry body, but birch for the handle, and a phoenix feather core.”

“His mother had a phoenix core in her wand, as well,” says Pearl, yet there’s an odd note in her voice when she adds, “But cherry and _birch_?” 

“It’s what suits him,” Ollivander replies, voice even. She turns her gaze back to Steven. “This is a happy wand, it is. Flexible, well-suited for healing and protection magics.”

Steven savours the description, running his fingers along the find grain of his new wand. It sounds perfect. He swishes it experimentally, dreaming of the day when he will cast spells as well as his friends.

After that, it’s a quick matter of paying, and then Steven is back out in the street, his very own wand sitting snugly in his pocket, a wide grin on his face. His Dad suggests they go and get some ice-cream in celebration, and Pearl says there’s a perfect place just down the street. He’s visualising the kind of glorious enchanted sundaes that a wizard can concoct, when he notices a girl walking down the alley ahead of them.

She sticks out immediately. Almost everybody here is dressed in wizards’ robes, but she’s dressed like muggle, in a pretty pale green dress and matching shoes. He catches a brief glimpse of her face— dark skin, brown hair, behind a pair of huge glasses. She’s staring absently at something, and she doesn’t even notice when the bracelet she’s wearing slips off her wrist and falls to the ground. Steven darts forward, picking it up. 

“—Wait!” he calls out, after her. “You dropped your—”

But she’s already disappeared into the throng of people, impossible to see.

“What’s that you got there, Stevo?” his Dad asks.

Steven looks down at it. It’s a pink glow-stick bracelet, like the ones they give away at parades or on New Year’s Eve. “A girl dropped it,” Steven says. “I wanted to give it back to her.”

Greg looks around. “Well, I think you lost her, buddy.”

“A girl?” says Pearl. “About your age?”

Steven shrugs. “Probably?”

“Well, then, she’ll most likely be at Hogwarts. You can return it to her there.”

She looks so triumphant about the idea, but Steven feels his stomach sinking. “But it’s a glow stick, Pearl! It’ll run out before I get to Hogwarts.”

“Don’t worry, Steven,” his Dad says, with a wink. “I’ll tell you a little secret; if you put those things in the freezer, they can last forever. If we don’t run into the girl today, we’ll stache it in there when we get home, and then you can bring it with you to school in September. Now, how about we go get that ice-cream?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lot of extra notes to go through in this one, if you're interested.
> 
> 1) So, as some of you might have noticed from this chapter, there are going to be some characters from original Harry Potter canon, like the Weasley Twins or Tom the barman. I tried to avoid it, but frankly, even with the extended SU cast, there just isn't enough people to populate the entire wizarding world, and I didn't want to come up with a bajillion OCs. 
> 
> History has been altered in this verse. I don't want to get into details, but there was no Voldemort, and while there was a Dark Lord, they turned up about twenty years later. The time-lines of existing HP characters have understandably been altered. Folks like Harry and Hermione are probably hanging around somewhere, but their lives turned out a fair bit differently. They might make a few cameo appearances if the situation arises, but they're not going to be a major focus.
> 
> 2) I decided to give witch!Pearl a Filipino background to match that of her voice-actress, Deedee Magno-Hall. I chose the traditional last name "Magpantay", which means "to equalize or level". 
> 
> 3) Wand lore! I love wand lore!
> 
> Pearl has a hemlock wand with a unicorn hair core. Unicorn hair is associated with purity, and is a relatively subtle core, which lends itself well to more 'cerebral' users. Wands made from hemlock allow for quick reactions and is excellent for potion stirring. 
> 
> Steven... It took a fair amount of debate for Steven's wand, but I eventually settled on a phoenix feather core for both him and Rose. This core is known for its versatility and power, and is particularly common among Light Wizards. Plus, it has a resurrection motif I couldn't ignore. 
> 
> Steven has a dual wood wand, which is uncommon but not unheard of; the body generally represents its user's outward appearance, while the heart depicts the wizard's true nature. The body is cherry tree wood, descriped as _"A 'happy', willing wandwood, which will give consistent results at all magic save the Dark Arts. Cherry with phoenix feather is a particularly agreeable combination for a Light wizard without particularly prodigious magical talents."_ Birch, meanwhile, is described having, _"a reputation for weakness, [though] in actuality birch is one of the finest Light wandwoods in existence. It is associated with both driving out evil spirits (and thus will produce a strong Patronus) and with healing magic."_


	6. Sorting

The magical ice cream sundaes are good; vanilla and strawberry, heaped tall with chocolate sauce, whipped cream, cherries, sparkling with fizzy magical fireworks that tickle in the mouth. Steven makes a huge mess, while Greg laughs, and Pearl tuts, cleaning his cheeks with a napkin.

What’s less good is when people notice him again.

It’s much like how it happened at the Leaky Cauldron. A few odd, sneaked stares. A few nods at ‘Professor Magpantay’, that she returns, curt and professional. And then, someone overhears his name, and suddenly, people are coming up to him, smiling, shaking his hand, enveloping him in hugs, asking to see his scar—

— Steven’s friendly despite the strangeness of it all. Pearl hurriedly pays, and next thing Steven knows, he’s being ushered down the alley. A few minutes later, they’re standing in the streets of muggle London, Greg suggesting that they take a visit to Trafalgar square.

Steven has always enjoyed Trafalgar, with its throngs of people, and the huge old buildings, and the stone lions you can climb all over, and the people dressed up in silver paint pretending to be statues, and the giant flocks of pigeons. And he still enjoys it, all that day. But none of it can completely distract him from wondering what _that_ was all about.

 

oOo

He gets an explanation that night.

Steven’s tired from the expedition, but bubbly, unable to resist flicking his wand around, seeing if he can make any sparks, or if he’ll be able to do any of the spells in the books. His Dad seems kind of on edge— “Careful with that Steven,” and “You know you’re not supposed to do intentional magic outside of school”, he says. And while it’s true that he does look a little nervous with every swing of his son’s new wand, he doesn't seem to relax even once the wand is away and they're chowing down on mac'n'cheese, one of Greg's favourites. 

The food’s been finished and dish washing’s just begun, when there’s a loud ‘ _woosh_ ’ from the living room. Steven rushes out to find Garnet brushing away soot from her robes. She greets him warmly, but then says, “There’s something we need to talk about.”

“Okay,” Steven says. “But we gotta do dishes first.”

He gestures to his Dad, peeking out from the kitchen, wringing his hand on a wash towel. Greg and Garnet exchange strange looks. “I’ll handle that,” Garnet says.

With a wave of her wand, the wash towel flies out of Greg’s hand and the dishes begin an automatic cleaning routine of their own. They all take seats in the living room.

“Steven,” Garnet says. “Do you remember what we’ve told you about your Mum?”

Steven glances towards the painting above the mantlepiece. The woman in it looks as beautiful as ever, but there’s a slight frown on her face. He can’t remember her, but he’s been told a lot. “Yes?”

“About how she… died,” his Dad says.

Steven shifts a bit.

He’s been told a little. Not a lot. All he knows is that someone bad tried to kill him, and his Mom died saving his life. She was very brave, and very kind, and that everyone misses her very, very much.

“It was actually a bit more complicated than that,” his Dad says, gentle.

“Rose was not the first person that witch had killed,” says Garnet. “She killed many, many others before.”

“What?” says Steven. “Why?”

Greg sighs. Garnet adjusts her glasses.

“Because she was cruel and bitter,” says Greg.

“Because she hated anyone who was different,” says Garnet. “Or maybe that was just an excuse, and she simply wanted power. There were many people who agreed with her, and followed her beliefs. They hurt a lot of people.”

Steven feels strangely numb and detached.

“Not everybody did, though,” adds Greg.

“No,” agrees Garnet. “Many people hated what the witch was doing. Your mother was one of those people. So were Pearl, Amethyst, and I. We were part of a group that fought against her. We helped a lot of people, but the witch did not like that. She was so angry that she went after you and Rose.” She smiles, but it is not a very happy smile. “She underestimated your mother, and her love. She may have killed Rose, but not before she was able to place a protective spell on you so great, so powerful, that the witch’s attempt to break through it killed her.”

“Wow.”

There’s a long silence. His Dad wraps a warm arm around his shoulder.

Finally, Garnet starts again. “With the witch’s death, the war was over,” says Garnet. “Her reign of death and destruction ended. Everyone was so happy. They all wanted to know who had defeated You Know Who.”

“You Know Who?”

“That’s what people call her. They don’t like to say her name. Either You Know Who, or She Who Must Not Be Named.”

Steven frowns. That seems a little silly. But he doesn’t press.

“They decided it must be you.”

Steven’s frown deepens. “Wait, me? But you said that—”

“None of us were there, the night you mother died,” Greg says. “None of us saw what happened. We know Rose would have done everything to protect you, but none of us know how.”

“And what she protected you against was the Killing Curse.” Garnet’s voice is suddenly like ice, like iron. “Steven, the Killing Curse is one of the darkest spells in existence. It is illegal to cast. There is no known way to block it, no way to survive it. Yet, somehow, you did. And with nothing but a scar.”

At the words, Steven can’t help but lift up his shirt, look at the shiny bright pink patch of skin where his belly button should be. He presses his fingers against it. It feels cool and smooth.

“Because of that,” Garnet continues, “Many witches and wizards respect you greatly.”

“Is that why everyone acted so weird when they met me?” Steven asks.

“Yep,” agrees Greg. He winks at him. “You’re basically a magic celebrity!”

“Huh,” Steven says. He’s not really sure how to feel about that. It’s pretty cool. But he doesn’t really feel like he did anything to deserve it.

oOo

He doesn’t think about it much, in the coming months. He’s too busy— busy practicing with his wand, busy choosing what to bring with him to Hogwarts, busy playing with his muggle friends, busy counting down the days to September— to worry about any fame he may or may not have.

Finally, on the last day of August, he and his Dad hop in a van for the trip to London.

oOo

King’s Cross is amazing.

It’s so _busy_. There's people from all around the world, wearing different clothes and talking in different accents, some with luggage, others giant backpacks, some with seeing-eye dogs or wheelchairs… The air is filled with the smell of dozens of different foods, pasties and chips and curries and coffees. The station is half built from old stone, half from shiny new glass, filled with bright light, and Steven’s heart bubbles as his Dad leads him through it all.

“Seven… eight… nine… There’s ten. Okay. This should be it,” he says. “Platform 9 and 3/4s.”

Steven stares at the completely ordinary stone barrier standing in front of them. “So we just walk through?”

“Apparently,” Greg says, voice slightly strained.

Pushing on the wheeled cart carrying Steven’s luggage, they rush forward, and go through the barrier together. There’s a rush of wind, a sudden darkness, and then…

… a new platform, filled entirely with witches and wizards and hooting owls and bustling parents and crying children and floating trunks and _wow_.

Greg helps Steven lift all of his bags onto the nearest train-car, and then pulls his son into a bone-crushing hug. Around the station, other children of a variety of ages try to escape as their parents do the same, but Steven leans into it, giving a hug just as good as he gets.

“I’ll send you an owl first thing tomorrow morning,” he promises.

“I can’t wait,” his Dad says, breaking out of the hug and giving Steven’s hair a ruffle. “Have an awesome time. And if anything happens, Garnet, Pearl and Amethyst will be there to help.”

“I know Dad.” A loud whistle blares at the front of the train; Steven hoists himself up. And then, “I love you!”

“Love you too, Stewball!”

Steven makes his way through the crowded train corridor, peeking into compartments. Most of them are already filled with kids far older than him, chatting happily among themselves— which normally wouldn’t worry Steven at all, except they fill the compartments to bursting, not enough room to fit even one extra first year. Hoisting his cheeseburger backpack further up, Steven tries to find one with enough room for him.

At the very back of the train, there is a compartment filled with only one person. A nervous American muggle-born first year, clutching her new spell book tightly to her chest.

Steven would have found it, if he’d continued a little further. Instead, he stops three compartments short of her, at one that holds only two teenagers, who seem to be arguing in a good-natured way. Steven pokes his head in. “Hey! Mind if I sit here?”

The boy shrugs. “Whatever, man.”

“Sure, come in!” says the girl, with a bright smile. She is short, wearing robes in red Gryffindor trim that match her pink cheeks. “I’m Sadie.”

She looks pointedly at the boy, wearing green, who says, “Lars.”

“I’m Steven! Steven Universe, nice to meet you!”

A shock seems to run through Lars. “Wait,” he says. “ _The_ Steven Univer-”

Sadie elbows him in the side. She says, with a slightly forced chipperness, “Nice to meet you too!”

Steven beams at them, dropping his bag on the seat. Just then, another whistle pierces the air, and the train shakes with a sudden lurch. “We’re moving!” he says. He runs to the window, looking out through the crowd to find his Dad. He waves. “Bye Dad!”

Sadie laughs, and comes to join him. (Lars, meanwhile, sinks further back into his seat). She gives a rather sheepish wave, and Steven catches sight of a broad, friendly woman, who looks an awful lot like Sadie (only covered in more owls), waving back with enthusiasm. The train is picking up speed now, the station receding, all of platform 9 & 3/4 out to it, some people racing down the platform after it.  Steven smiles and waves and waves until his Dad disappears behind the bend.

He’s off for school!

He takes his seat, trying to clamp down on the sudden giddiness that has risen up inside him.

Lars pulls a pack of cards from his pockets, while Sadie rummages in her trunk for something. She brings out a large brown paper bag. “Hey,” she says, blushing a little. “Either of you want donuts? My Mum made them.”

Steven’s eyes light up. “Would I?!”

oOo

Hogwarts castle is even more magnificent than Steven imagined.

It appears on the horizon like a spectre, a dark shape against a darker sky, twinkling torchlight and twisting towers, reflecting down onto the waves of the mighty lake below.

In his excitement, Steven starts shaking the boat, and almost gets himself and everyone else tossed in. The other first years with him yell at him to stop, and the friendly voice of Hagrid the groundskeeper echoes across the water asking if they’re okay.

“We’re fine! Sorry!” says Steven. He just got kind of carried away.

Otherwise, all the first years makes it across the lake without incident. They disembark in a cave in a rocky cliff, where the walls drip with water, and are lead to a huge set of rock doors that open automatically as they approach. Behind them is Pearl, standing straight, dressed in a beautiful pink robe. Their eyes meet as she looks over the assembled crowd, and she smiles.

“Welcome, everyone,” she says. “I am Professor Magpantay, deputy head-mistress and professor of potions. Follow me.”

She leads them through the ancient walls of Hogwarts. The first years move in a whispering herd behind her, staring around at the suits of armour, the moving portraits smiling down at them, the occasional ghost gliding through the walls. Pearl lectures the entire way through, but Steven barely hears a thing she says, he’s so distracted.

Finally, they’re lead through to the truly massive set of doors that can only lead into the Great Hall.

“Students. First years. Through here, you will begin your seven year journey through Hogwarts,” she says. “Here, you will meet your other teachers and fellow students, and join them in them in this year’s welcoming feast. Before that, however, you will be sorted.” It’s nothing Steven hasn’t heard before, but everyone else around him has grown silent, listening intently. “The Sorting Hat will be placed upon your head, and it will stare into your very mind, to see where you best belong; Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff or Slytherin. It is with your fellow house members that you will live, eat, and take classes. In many ways, they can be like your second family.” A strange expression passes across her face for a moment, before she she schools it into its previous smoothness. “In a few moments, the doors will open. Please enter silently, and wait patiently for your name to be called.”

Pearl turns to face the door. The silence is anxious with anticipation. Steven finds himself recalling the things his family told him about sorting in the past.

 _‘Oh, I was so nervous, Steven_ ,’ Pearl had told him. ‘ _Rose had made the school sound so glorious, so magnificent, and I found that she hadn’t exaggerated one bit. The Great Hall is truly beautiful, Steven, it’s lit by a thousand floating candles, and its enchanted ceiling looks out onto the open sky. On clear nights you can see a thousand stars._ ’ The doors open, met with the roar of a thousand students clapping, and in a daze, Steven looks up to see just how true Pearl’s description was. _‘Before I knew it, it was my turn to go up and try on the Sorting Hat. It looks right into a person’s mind, sees their true natures, and after a long period of musing… well, it placed me into Slytherin_.’

There are students all around them, sitting at long tables, staring at the first years and muttering in expectant whispers, buzzing with discussion. Steven shivers a little, knowing all those eyes are on him.

At the far end of the hall is the raised staff table. In the very centre sits Headmistress Garnet Abeni; she stands. Everyone immediately looks towards her, and falls silent. 

She looks even grander and more impressive than usual. She’s dressed in a rich red robe and long gloves, and she stares out across the hall through darkened spectacles. Then she says, “Let the sorting begin.”

And so it does, with a song.

There’s an old, tattered witch’s hat sitting on a stool before the staff table. What had appeared to be a rip in hat’s side opens, revealing itself to be a mouth, and from it comes the words;

_Welcome all into our castle_

_Here is your new home_

_For seven years of studying_

_From teachers and from tomes_

_Companionship, as well, you’ll find_

_Amongst the hallways here_

_Secrets, science, sorcery_

_To fill your school-time years_

 

_So where of four do you belong?_

_In which will you be put?_

_Each house has different traits and tricks_

_The sorting game’s afoot!_

 

 _In Gryffindor, most daring house_  
  
_The bravest students dwell_  
  
_Their valour and their gallantry_  
 _  
More powerful than spells_

 

_Perhaps in steadfast Hufflepuff,_

_Is where you’ll hear the call,_

_Their patience and their loyalty_

_And drive to value all_

 

_In Slytherin, you've heard it said,_

_Beyond ambition's trend_

_Their cunning and their cleverness_

_And fiercely faithful friends_

 

 _Ravenclaw might be your place_  
  
_If knowledge is your goal_  
  
_Their logic and their artistry_  
 _  
Combine a potent whole_

 

_Your head is in the best of hands,_

_(In figurative sense)_

_I’ve done this for a thousand years_

_Let sorting now commence!_

  
The song ends, and is met with rapturous applause. The hat dips its tip as a little bow. With a swish of her wand Pearl conjures a long parchment, and begins to read from the list of new students. First to be called up is a brown haired girl named ‘ _Bones, Aimee_ ’. She makes her way to the front of the hall. Pearl nods at the nervous girl as she takes a seat and places the old hat on her head.

It was only a couple months ago when Steven had asked Garnet how her sorting had gone. Her answer had been as brief and direct as they usually were. ‘ _I was the first student to be called up. The Hat sat on my head for a few moments, debated, and then eventually decided on Gryffindor_.’

Aimee gets sorted into Gryffindor, too. A rousing cheer goes up through the hall, but the whoops and screams are by far the loudest form the Gryffindors themselves. Aimee’s flushed as she joins them.

The Sorting Ceremony turns out to be less exciting that Steven had thought it would be. Sure, it’s fun when the Hat announces a student’s house, and their table erupts in cheers as they greet their new member. It’s just that before that happens, you’re just left standing there watching a student sit silently. Steven’s right at the end of the alphabet. He has a long time to wait until it’s his turn. It’s nerve-wracking, watching student after student walk to the front, and sit there, eyes clenched or muttering under their breath. Eventually Steven can’t take it, and looks away.

His eyes sweep around the hall, taking in the four House tables, with the fellow first years settling in. He grins at the ghosts hanging in the air, all watching the proceedings with interest. He looks over the teacher table, filled with his future professors. Amethyst is whispering something to Hagrid when she catches Steven's eyes. She grins at him with a cat-like smile.

‘ _Oh, yeah, sorting_ ,’ she’d said to him, when he’d asked. ‘ _It’s no big thing, really. The hat’s really old and stuck up, he takes_ forever _to make up his mind. At that point I was just hungry, so I told the hat I didn’t really care where he put me, if he’d just get it over with already. So then he yelled out ‘Gryffindor’ and that was that_.’

Steven can’t imagine being so calm about the whole thing, but he has to admit, it fits Amethyst perfectly. He's heard plenty of Amethyst's stories from when she was learning to be an auror, and he's sure there's no-one alive braver than her. 

They’re moving steadily through the alphabet. Hs, Ls, Ms…

Pearl calls out “Maheswaran, Connie”, and Steven starts when he recognises her. She’s the girl from Diagon Alley, the one who lost her bracelet!

She’s biting her lip, but she otherwise seems very calm when she takes her place under the hat. Sometimes the hat knows exactly where to place someone the moment it grazes their head; this is not one of those times. She sits under there for what seems like ages, face screwed up in a strange expression, lips occasionally moving as though speaking under her breath. Finally her eyes fly open, and the hat announces, “Slytherin!”

Looking a little dazed, Connie grins, and rushes off to join her new housemates. Some greet her with welcoming smiles, but Steven can’t help but notice that the clapping seems rather… muted.

They’re a small year. Only about five students are left after her. Steven plays with the hems of his robes as he waits. He already knows exactly which house he wants.

Finally, it’s his turn. Pearl can’t suppress a smile when she says, “Universe, Steven.”

Fierce whispers erupt across the hall. Steven does his best to ignore them, to focus on Pearl and the hat. He takes his place on the stool, and the hall vanishes when the huge hat falls over his eyes. For a moment, there’s nothing, and then a voice like the whisper of fabric hisses, _Well, who we have here?_

 _Hello,_ Steven says, or rather thinks. _Can you hear me?_

 _I most certainly can_ , the hat replies with a scratchy laugh. _Let me take a look at you then_.

 _Hmmm. Not Ravenclaw, I don’t think. You enjoy learning, but that’s not your drive_ , it says. _And certainly not Slytherin. That’s not the place for you at all._

_You’re brave, though. Very brave. You could do well in Gryff—_

_Please_ , Steven interrupts. _I already know where I want to go. The same House as my Mum_.

 _Your Mum_ , says the hat. It does not sound surprised. _People are not always destined for the same house as their parents, you know._

On the stool, Steven squirms uncomfortably. He can’t help but think of all the things his family have told him about Rose— how loving and caring she was, how she always helped others and saw beauty where no-one else did— 

 _But,_ the hat sighs. _I cannot deny that it fits. You are brave, true, but you are also caring, dedicated, loyal. And if that is truly where you want to go, then it can only be…_

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

The hall sits in stunned silence. It’s only when Steven pulls the hat off his head, and beaming, starts off towards his new house, that the other Hufflepuffs begin yelping and clapping.  Belatedly, the rest of the hall follows suit. Steven doesn’t even notice the delayed reaction, he’s so overjoyed. Someone thumps him on the back; someone else embraces him in a hug, and he’s done it.He’s a Hufflepuff, just like his Mum was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to my wonderful friend LadyRavenEye who basically wrote 3/4s of the Sorting Song. She also edited the chapter, plus indulged me in many discussions about house sorting.
> 
> 'Abeni' is a traditional west-African surname. It means, "We asked for her, and behold, we got her."
> 
> Also, PS, please nobody kill me about those house sortings. I do have a plan with them, I promise! Instead, let's open up a friendly debate about where you'd put everyone. XD


	7. School Life

The sorting is finished, the feast about to begin, but first Garnet- or rather, Professor Abeni- must give a speech.

It is, as Steven expected, short and to-the-point. Garnet outlays rules for students both new and old. The Forbidden Forest is exactly that— forbidden. Curfew begins at nine at night, and ends at seven in the morning. There is a full list of contraband items to be found on the caretaker’s door. However, in particular, Professor Magpantay would like to stress that _anyone_ found using or possessing love potions will risk immediate expulsion. 

And finally: anyone who does not want to die should avoid the right hand third-floor corridor.

This last comment causes a stir of surprise and confusion among the older students. Steven’s kinda confused too— he’s never heard of any out-of-bounds corridors before. Garnet doesn’t offer any explanation, but he figures he can ask her about it later.

“But enough of that,” Garnet finishes, her tone turning lighter. “Now, let’s have some fun!”

She raises her hand, and the tables fill with food. Everybody roars with delight as they settle into the masses of chicken, potatoes, gravy, sausages and roasted vegetables.

oOo

Sunlight falls on Steven’s face, waking him with a start.

Not _real_ sunlight, though. Fake, illusionary sunlight, streaming through magical windows, which are magical because the Hufflepuff dorms are underground, and he’s in the Hufflepuff dorms because he’s at Hogwarts and _ohmygoshthisissocool_!

Within moments he’s rolled out of the bed and has rushed to his trunk, eager to get dressed. First he puts on his favourite jean shorts and star t-shirt, even though he knows no one will be able to see them, just for good luck. Over them he pulls his proper wizard robes, black and cool and mysterious. Then, it’s the time for the tie. It was plain white when he bought it; only now has it transformed to bear the house colours of gold and black. He grins at it proudly, wondering how it’ll look around his neck.

“Uh,” he says, suddenly. “Anyone know how to put on a tie?”

He’s met by a chorus of groans. Turns out that none of his fellow dorm mates were actually awake yet. Whoops.

As they mumble and roll into reluctant consciousness, Steven finds other things to do. He’s been told that he doesn’t have to make the bed, because house elves will do it for him, which is really, really nice. Still, he takes the time to arrange his plushies and stuffed animals into sitting positions, because his friends shouldn’t have to wait to be comfy, and the elves won’t know their favourite positions yet. Then he thinks he should probably write a note to the elves, introducing himself and thanking them.

He rustles around in his trunk for parchment, ink and quill. He holds them up victoriously, then scrawls a friendly greeting letter. He’s not very good with quills yet, so the writing's kind of messy, but readable. At least, he hopes it’s readable. He also hopes he’ll get to meet some of the house elves. 

By the time that he’s finished, the other boys in the dorm are finally up and moving. Since it’s a small year, there’s only two others. There’s Jay, a cheerful boy with black hair and brown skin, who’s first move when they’d gotten in late last night had been to plaster his walls with posters of the Holyhead Harpies. The other is Peedee, a boy that Steven had chatted happily with at the feast, but who had hit his wall hard by the time they’d gone to bed. He’s looking a little more awake now as he drags a brush through his thick blonde curls.

Steven bounces on the bed as he waits. It’s so _soft_. And covered in a gorgeous patch-work quilt. The room around him is circular, with walls of warm brown and yellow brick, cheerful plants growing in pots along the wall. It’s very different from the airy loft bedroom he has at home, but Steven adores it regardless.

“What class are you most excited for?” he asks, while his new friends are pulling on their socks.

“Breakfast,” says Peedee. When the others protest that’s not a class, he relents, “Probably charms.”

“I wanna try transfiguration,” says Jay. “Just go boom!-” he flicks his wand dramatically— “and turn a chair into a bear!”

Steven nods. That sounds awesome. But he knows what would be even _more_ awesome! “Care of Magical Creatures!”

“You can’t take that till third year,” Peedee points out as he ties his shoes.

“Oh. Right.” Steven droops, but only momentarily. “I bet we can still visit the animals though!”

Everyone gathers their bags for the day, filled with books, parchment and stationary. Steven hesitates for a moment, then grabs his ukulele too, because why not? You never know when you’ll need some music. 

They set out to find their way to washroom, then the common rooms. It’s a little bit tricky; they’re all linked by a complicate series of earthen tunnels, and they get a little lost. Thankfully, one of the older students gets them back on track, and promises they’ll learn their way around soon enough. Eventually they make it to the main common room. It looks even nicer in the day time, filled with magically bright sunlight, huge arm-chairs and cosy beanbags, and wooden carvings of badgers on the walls. It’s dominated by a huge portrait of their founder herself, Helga Hufflepuff. Her face is warm and friendly, and it reminds Steven a little of his Mum. 

There’s not a lot of people there yet. The older students aren’t in any particular rush, but the girl first years are just as eager and anxious as the boys. There’s four of them; Diane, Mona, Hayley, and Victoire. Also there waiting for them is Kiki, a prefect who’ll be leading them back to the Great Hall to make sure they don’t get lost.

“Especially since you boys have _already_ managed it once this morning,” Kiki says, with a playful laugh. 

The Great Hall is a flurry of activity— there are students running this way and that, greeting old friends, the air is filled with ghosts, owls, and the delicious smell of hot food. Breakfast is delicious—bread, jelly, honey, bacon, sausages, four kinds of eggs, huge pitchers filled with milk and pumpkin juice. Despite being thoroughly stuffed by last night’s feast, they somehow find room for more, and the biggest struggle is managing to eat and talk at the same time. 

About fifteen minutes in, they’re interrupted by a witch tapping them on the shoulders. “Schedules!”

The witch turns out to be Professor Pizza, Hufflepuff Head of House. She might be no taller than Steven himself, but she’s ancient, with sharp, sparkling eyes. She already knows all her new students by name when she hands out their schedules. She orders them to eat up: they’re growing and they need all the food they can get.

Steven pours over his schedule with interest. First class; potions.

oOo

Steven had known that potions class was in the held dungeons. What he hadn't realised how big the dungeons actually _are_. Corridor after corridor twisting like a maze, flickering torch light casting strange shadows on the stones, past seemingly endless doors that all look identical. 

By the time he and his fellow Hufflepuffs finally arrive, all the Slytherin students are all seated with their stuff out, and Pearl is waiting impatiently to start. She shoots them a withering glare as they slink in.

“Sorry, Pearl,” says Steven. “We got lost.”

Her expression softens. “Well, it happens,” she sighs. “But do _try_ to be on time next class. Now. Potions. This is not a subject of wand waving and flashing lights. Potions in a subject of subtly and precision, of calculations and consideration. The proper potion can allow you to to call luck or dispel fear, to heal a bleeding wound or cause a sudden death….”

Steven tries to pay attention. He really does.

It’s just. Pearl’s in Lecture Mode. And Steven can’t help but get distracted, because the classroom is so _interesting_. Stark walls of black brick, torches lit with strange blue fire, the smell of stone, water, and something else, strange and old. Along the back wall, behind the chalk board, there is a huge shelf filled with row after row of carefully labelled glass jars filled with brightly coloured potion ingredients. (That doesn’t surprise Steven at all. Organising stuff is one of Pearl’s favourite things in the whole world). 

There are the other students. Steven looks over from the Hufflepuffs to the Slytherins, finally getting a good look at them. There’s nine in total this year, five boys and four girls. Some are dark, some are pale; some tall, some short; some chatting under their breath, some doodling on their parchment, others studiously taking notes.

One of the notetakers is the Connie Maheswaran. The girl from Diagon Alley, with the bracelet. Steven tenses. He has it in his bag, right now. If he was only sitting closer, he could give it to her!

But no, she’s on the other side of the classroom. And besides, she’s working hard, eyes furrowed as she listens to Pearl and wrestles with his quill. He can’t distract her. 

Wait! Pearl! He’s meant to be paying _attention._

“…so, let’s begin,” says Pearl. The room bustles into sudden activity. Books are flipped open, knives and scalpels pulled out, and herbs fly to each work station with a flick of Pearl’s wand. Steven stares at everything with open confusion.

“Uh,” he whispers to Peedee. “What are we supposed to do?”

Peedee sighs, but helps Steven set up his cauldron. 

oOo

“Alright, kiddos,” begins Amethyst, leaning on the blackboard at the front of the classroom. “Welcome to transfiguration. I’m Professor Jones, least around the other teachers. In here, you can call me Amethyst if you want. Or whatever.”

She shrugs, the picture of indifference. An excited, surprised murmur goes up through the classroom. A professor who doesn’t want to be called professor? Who has purple skin, and wears a matching violet cloak with tears in it so big that they can see the jeans underneath? 

Steven’s just glad he can use her name. He’s already slipped up and called Pearl ‘Pearl’ twice in class, and she had to tell him off about it. (“In lessons, you’re a student just like any other, and I can’t go around giving you special treatment.”)

“Okay,” Amethyst says. “Can anyone tell me what, exactly, transfiguration is?”

A hand shoots up. It belongs to one of the boys wearing a Ravenclaw blue tie. Amethyst snaps a finger at him, and he answers, “It’s the magic of rearranging matter into another form.”

“A little wordy, but yeah,” Amethyst agrees. “Basically, it’s turning one thing into another. Like this.”

She waves her wand, and suddenly, the ink pot sitting on her desk is a frog. Startled screams go up when it jumps at the first row; the second it lands, Amethyst waves her wand again, and the frog turns back into its original form. Only a slight splatter of black ink suggests anything had happened at all.

“Or this,” Amethyst says again, and then Peedee’s hair has turned into what looks like a giant pumpkin. Amethyst laughs at his shocked expression before transforming it back.

“Or this.” This time, she doesn’t wave her want at all; her skin just changes, instantly, from purple to dark black.

An awed murmur washes through the classroom. Steven’s grinning ear from ear. He’s seen it all before, but he’s still enjoying the show. In an instant Amethyst’s skin is back to purple, but her hair is now short and pink, her nose pointed, just like Pearl’s. Then her nose is short and stubby, a pig’s. Then Amethyst is shrinking, her curves softening, her features shifting; it takes him a moment, but then Steven recognises the shape. It’s _him_. Almost a perfect mirror image, aside from the purple skin and oversized cloak.

The class is clapping in earnest now, and hasn’t finished by the time Amethyst is back in her default shape, sitting smug in her chair. Victoire is waving her hand frantically in the air; Amethyst tells her to shoot. “Will _we_ be able to do all that?”

“Ah. Well, not all of it,” confesses Amethyst. “Changing my own appearance like that? Without a wand? That’s natural skill. I’m a metamorphamagus, and you’re either born as one, or you’re not.

“But,” she continues, suddenly sounding much more professorly. “There are ways to replicate those abilities, with wandwork and spell casting. After seven years, you should be able to turn an ink pot into a toad, or an elephant into a pin. Colour switching, shape changing, size alteration…. It should all be possible, long as you’re ready to put in the work. You guys ready?”

There’s a chorus of ‘ _yes_ ’es. 

This is gonna be awesome!

oOo

Magic is awesome.

Magic _school work_ is boring.

Alright. It’s not _always_ boring. Some of the stuff the teachers teach is really interesting, and it can be really fun when they actually get to do stuff. But before you can get to waving your wand, there’s a lot of studying to do. History. Background information. Spell pronunciations. The right way to hold your wand.

Steven’s never been really good in class. Teachers have always complained that while he’s a good kid, he fidgets too much, bursts into song at the wrong moments, gets caught staring out the window or drawing pictures on the desk. He thought it would be easier once he got to Hogwarts, but it isn’t!

(Pearl took him aside very early to tell him to stop bringing his ukulele to class. Steven didn’t like it, but he agreed. It was kind of bulky anyway, carrying it everywhere, with such long walks between classrooms and so many stairs to climb). 

He doesn’t want to sound grumpy. There’s a lot about the lessons he does like! He loves Professor Pizza’s wry humour over meals, and wishes he was older so he could take Muggle Studies with her. He loves Professor Flitwick’s squeaky voice, and the way he’s so patient when demonstrating the charms. He loves how silly the Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher, Professor Pettigrew is, and how he has some of the best stories to tell. He loves flying lessons, the first chance he’s ever had to take a broom higher than a couple feet, even if Professor Smiley is kind of strict. His absolute favourite class is probably Herbology. They get to dig and play with plants, and Professor Longbottom is super nice.

He loves potions and transfiguration too, of course, even if they are really difficult and he has trouble focusing. Sure, he still hasn’t managed to change the colour of the block of wood he’s been given, and yeah, apparently he keeps almost blowing up his cauldron. But his wand is making cool sparks, and he likes adding ingredients to his potions and watching the colours change and shift. The best part is he gets to hang out with Pearl and Amethyst!

Even if they spend most of the classes lecturing. Even if they’re not allowed to give him too much personal time because ‘that would be favouritism’. Even if they don’t get to spend a lot of time together out of class, either.

He thought he’d get to see more of them, living at Hogwarts full time. But during the day, he has classes, and they have classes, too. Garnet doesn’t teach, not anymore, but she’s always busy anyway, doing mysterious Head Mistress duties. He practically only ever sees her at meals. 

Students aren’t really allowed to go up to the teacher’s table. There’s no official rule or anything, it just… doesn’t happen. Steven doesn’t care; once he’s finished eating, he likes to go up to the front and chat with Garnet, Amethyst and Pearl, anyway. (And the other teachers too). It’s not really the same as when they’d visit home in Beach City, though. They’re always getting interrupted and distracted by the other professors, and it’s kind of awkward having to stand while everyone else sits.

Sometimes, they invite him to their private quarters after dinner. With all three of them hanging out in either Amethyst or Pearl’s room, chatting, playing games, reading stories, it feels a lot like those long, warm nights on the beach.

Most of his free time, though, he spends in the common room with the other Hufflepuffs. That’s nice too. All the firsties play Exploding Snap together, or Hangman using the animated toy from Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, or wizard’s chess, which Steven isn’t very good at. (Also, he really hates watching the pieces beat each other up). Diane has a beautiful set of magical pencils that sparkle and change colour, which she lets him share; he helps braid her hair in return. Jay has a great singing voice, and Steven likes to play the ukulele in accompaniment, sometimes playing old songs or improvising new ones on the fly. Everyone will sit together and do homework, helping each other on the difficult bits and groaning at the long, long essays that Professor Binns, the history professor (and ghost), keeps setting them. Kids from all the years settle around the one old radio and get into good natured arguments about what to listen to. Some of the radio shows are fun, and there’s some nice music, but Steven finds himself really missing TV. He wonders what’s happening on _The Crying Breakfast Friends_. He’ll have a lot of catching up to do at Christmas break.

He makes a lot of visits up to the Owlery. He loves visiting the owls, and the owls like him too, probably because he keeps bringing them scraps of bread and chips. They fly around him in a flurry,all tickling feathers and sharp talons. All the school birds are eager to help him carry letters.

He writes to Dad a lot. Tells him about Hogwarts; about his classmates, his lessons, that one portrait of a dog he likes to play with. He draws him pictures of the school grounds to look at. Greg tells him how proud he is; how proud that he’s a Hufflepuff, just like his Mom, and that as long as he tries his best in class, that’s what’s important. Dad says that everything’s fine at the carwash, and that he misses him.

Steven misses Dad right back.

He writes to his old friends from primary school, too. Not directly, of course. There’s no way they’d allow an owl to deliver directly to a muggle house. He sends the letters to Dad, who uses muggle mail from there. Those letters are a lot barer. Steven can’t tell Angela or Shab or any of the others what subjects he’s taking, or about the walking suits of armour, or the Fat Friar, the friendly Hufflepuff ghost. He can’t explain why he’s writing them by ‘snail mail’, instead of e-mail or texts. He can tell them even less than he could before. The gap between them widens.

Those letters get less and less frequent as time goes on. 

oOo

There’s one person Steven really, really, really wants to talk to. 

Connie Maheswaran.

It’s just. He hasn’t found the right time yet. He has her bracelet, she deserves it back as soon as possible, but he just… 

The Slytherins share both Potions and History of Magic with the Hufflepuffs. Neither of them seem quite right. During potions Steven’s always so busy, he never gets the chance to talk to anyone who isn’t sitting right at his table, and anyway, Pearl considers it bad safety protocol to leave your cauldron unattended. That’s not an issue in History class, of course; all they ever do is listen to Binns talk on and on and on and _on_. But the ghost had everyone sit in alphabetical order on the very first day, so Connie is three rows ahead and two seats to the left of him. (She’s always taking diligent notes, and never seems to get distracted. Steven bets she’s really, really smart).

He could catch her after class, but somehow— he always gets caught up talking with someone else, and by the time he remembers to look around, she’s already gone. And she eats so quickly that it’s hard catching her in the Great Hall, too. It can be really hard to pick someone out of a crowd when everyone’s wearing the same black robes.

Besides. He doesn’t just want to walk up to her and give her the bracelet. He wants to… break the ice someone. Show her something cool.

But what?

His ukulele? What if she doesn’t like acoustic? His wand? No, literally everyone has one of those. His cool red bike? No, that’s back in Beach City! _Uuuuugh_.

He’s thinking it over after supper one night, watching Connie vanish down the corridor towards the dungeons when he hears a sing-song voice in his ear. “Who you loooooooking at?”

Steven jumps and turns, only to find Amethyst grinning at him. Garnet and Pearl aren’t far behind, looking bemused. “No one!”

“Oh? Doesn’t sound like no one to me.”

“She’s— she’s just a girl that I know. Except she doesn’t know me.” 

Amethyst gasps. “You _like_ her!”

“Uh… I like everyone,” Steven mutters, shuffling his feet. He tries to ignore Amethyst’s face-splitting grin and Pearl’s delighted smile. “It’s just— she lost her bracelet in Diagon Alley, I want to return it—”

“Oh, do you mean that Connie girl?” says Pearl. “She’s in my house you know, I could easily return it to her—”

“No!” Steven quickly holds his bag tighter. “I wanna do it!”

The three witches exchange a Significant Look. Garnet’s the one who steps forward, and crouches so that she’s closer to Steven’s height. She puts her hands on his shoulder, and says, “Just go and talk to her.”

So that’s what’s Steven’s gonna do.

He’s built up his confidence. He’s been preparing in his head. He’s got the bracelet in his robe pocket, right next to his wand. It’s cold against his hand from the Freezing Charm he got Pearl to place on it the day he left for Hogwarts. It’s a warm Saturday afternoon in late September; there’s a light breeze ruffling the surface of the lake, some dragonflies are lazily buzzing about, and in the Forbidden Forest leaves are just starting to turn orange. Connie’s sitting in the castle’s shade, reading a book, not ten feet away.

He’s not gonna chicken out. He’s gonna do it.

He does last minute rehearsal under his breath. “Hi, I’m Steven. Hey, I’m Steven. Hiya, I’m Stev _en_. Hi, I’m—”

Then, he sees it.

Hogwarts is old. Ancient. A mighty structure build thousands of years ago from dark grey rock, held together by magic. And while carefully maintained, that age still shows. And at time, becomes dangerous.

High above, a huge chunk of a gargoyle gives, and the rock comes crashing down, right towards where Connie is sitting.

Steven doesn’t think. Doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t stop, just rushes forward, jumping at the girl, _and_ —-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter summary: Connie. Connie connie connie connie connie connie.
> 
> PS. Connie.


	8. Immigrant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for bullying, racism and xenophobia.

Connie Maheswaran was six years old when she first moved to a new city.

She had been devastated when she was first told the ‘exciting news’. She’d cried for three full hours, inconsolable. Her parents had tried everything to calm her down— promises of how fun it would be, how they’d live right next to a pool, how it would be some grand adventure.

None of it did any good. Connie hadn’t wanted to leave her house, or her bedroom, her her school or her friends. She hadn’t wanted to move to a whole new city. She wanted to stay exactly where she was.

But move to a new city, she had. Then a new state. Then another state after that, and another, and another. Her Dad was a security contractor, working primarily for beaches— he travelled wherever he was needed. Her Mom, meanwhile, was a highly successful surgeon. She could find work anywhere. Connie, of course, was just a little girl. She could attend any school, as long as it promised high quality education.

So Connie was moved from class to class, from school to school. She’d always been shy— always had trouble keeping names and faces straight, but it was a lot harder now, when she was barely ever in the same place for a full school year. New kids, all with their own social groups and cliques, who had already known each other since they were little kids… it was easier to stay at the back of the playground and read.

She did a lot of reading. Not just of storybooks and novels, but textbooks, too. Each school had a slightly different syllabus or curriculum. She would arrive in a new place, only to find her fellow classmates knee deep in a topic she’d never even heard about before. She had to work ravenously to catch up. And then once she had, she would just keep on working, until she outpaced her peers, because she never knew when that topic might come up at another school.

She got great grades. The teachers praised her. She had a schedule packed with extracurriculars, from tennis to violin. As far as her parents were concerned, Connie was doing wonderfully.

When she was nine (almost ten), her mother asked her how she would feel about moving to England.

Connie, who’d been anticipating an upcoming move anyway, figured there wasn’t much difference between a new city and a new country, and made no complaints. It would be something different, after all. She could go visit Stonehenge and the Tower of London. It would be exciting. An adventure!

It wasn’t, really. It was like almost any other move she’d ever gone through, only more drawn out.

Her mother went on multiple overseas trips beforehand, to look for apartments and scout-out schools. They had to pack weeks in advance, to give enough time for all their furniture to arrive; they lived for weeks in a near empty, bare-bones house. The trip itself was like any other of the airplane trips Connie had taken before, only they had to arrive at the airport earlier, and the flight itself was a lot longer. It could have been a boring experience, but Connie read most the way, and even managed to squeeze in a film and a couple hours of sleep before being woken up by the breakfast service. The worst part was probably immigration once they arrived, which involved standing in a very long line at Heathrow airport while her mother stressed and fretted.

There was a little time for sight-seeing, but mostly, that first month was spent preparing and unpacking.

Connie’d been prepared for her school to be majorly different to any of the ones she’d attended in America, but in reality, the differences were mostly superficial. The grades had different names subjects were slightly different; there were houses instead of homeroom; she had to wear a uniform every day. She still heard whispered comments and laughter behind her back, but whereas before they’d been mostly been jokes about her being a nerd and having an ‘unpronounceable’ last name, now there was also talk about her accent and how she kept calling trousers ‘pants’. 

She still took violin and tennis lessons. 

Not much had changed, really. 

At least until a Saturday morning in May, a week before her birthday, when there was an unexpected ringing of the doorbell.

oOo

“Hello! Is this the Maheswaran residence?” 

“Yes, it is,” Connie had heard her Dad say from the front hall, while she was finishing off her orange juice in the kitchen. “And I’m sorry— you are…?”

“Neville Longbottom,” the stranger had said. “I’m a teacher, and I’m here to talk about your daughter, Connie.”

Connie had sat up a little straighter. Her mother, who’d been reading the morning newspaper, did the same.

“Is she in trouble?” her father had demanded.

The man had laughed. “Oh, no! Not at all! I’m not one of her _current_ teachers. But I do hope I’ll get to be. You see, your daughter has been offered a position at my school. Would you mind if I came in, so that we could discuss it further?”

Connie could hear the flustered surprise in her father’s voice, but he had agreed, asking the man if he’d like some coffee. “Tea would be wonderful,” the man had said, as he’d been been lead into the kitchen. He was somewhat chubby, with tanned skin, and curly, brownish hair. He had smiled warmly when he spied her. “Ah, you must be Connie! Nice to meet you!”

“A pleasure,” Connie had said in her most polite voice, and shaken his hand. 

Looking him over as she did, Connie had thought he did very much look like a teacher. He had the right air about him. He stood like one, and spoke like one. But there was something ever so slightly _strange_ about him. It had taken her a moment to place what. 

His clothes.

He had been wearing a suit, a very nice one, quite professional, in fact. But it had looked… old. Not worn or aged, just about ten years out of fashion, which was funny, because the man only looked to be about thirty or so. There was also a distinct red shade to the fabric, which was unusual— red suits were not particularly popular. And his shoes; not traditional black leather, or even sneakers, or converses. They had been a bright, shiny red, with a weird curled point at the toes and old-fashioned gold buckles, like something from a costume.

There had also been a strange bulge in his right side pants ( _trouser_ ) pocket. A cellphone, Connie had thought at first, but no, the shape was wrong. Too long, too thin.

Her father had gotten to work preparing the tea, but her mother had gotten right to the point. “What’s this about about my daughter being offered a place at a school?”

The man nodded, and sat down. “Exactly what it sounds like. I teach at at an institution called Hogwarts, which specialises in students with very special talents and abilities.”

“We never applied to a school by that name,” Priyanka had said, frankly. “In fact, I’ve never even heard of the place, and believe me, I have done my research.”

“You wouldn’t have. And it’s not the kind of school you apply to,” Neville Longbottom had explained, a slight twinkle in his eye. And then he’d turned his attention back to Connie. “Could I ask you, Connie— have you ever done something strange, or unusual?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, something inexplicable.” When he was still met by confused stares, Longbottom had continued, “It happened to me quite late. When I was ten, I got thrown out of a third story window— but instead of getting injured, I bounced right, right up, completely unharmed. Like a rubber ball.”

It still hadn’t quite made sense, but Connie had caught the electric undercurrent to his words, thought of the copy of _The Unfamiliar Familiar_ sitting on her bedside table, and said, “You mean… like magic?”

“Yes.”

There had been silence.

And then Doug had said, flatly, “You’ve _got_ to be kidding.”

Prinayanka had looked furious. “If you think,” she had said, “That you can come into our home, and feed our daughter fantastic lies in hopes of scamming her, then—”

Longbottom had tried to speak over the protests, again and again, but couldn’t get a word out. So instead, he’d reached for his pocket, and pulled out what was definitely not a cell phone, but a stick. Though stick wasn't the right word at all— sticks were what fell off trees, while this was polished wood, carefully carved—

He had waved it, said a couple of words, and made his tea cup float a few feet off the table. And while everyone was gasping and checking it for wires, he had pointed the stick at the small plant resting on the window sill, and made it burst into full bloom. And finally, he had turned one of the metal forks into glass.

No, not a stick. _A wand_.

oOo

Connie, it turned out, was a witch.

Her parents had been flabbergasted. Unconvinced. Disbelieving.

It had taken Connie a while too, but as she had sat there in the kitchen, thinking it over, stuff had started sliding into place.

She could remember things, things that hadn’t quite seemed to make sense or match up, but which she’d always brushed off. All those times sitting on the playground, hoping that she wouldn’t be spotted or bothered by the more popular kids, and they’d just passed her by as though she was invisible, leaving her to read in peace. That time she’d come back after trick-or-treating, only for her Mom to take away most of her candy, leaving her with only a hand-full… just to find the entire bag in her closet the next morning. How once she’d dropped her phone in the sink, certain that it was going to be completely dead—- yet, once she’d fished it out, discovered that it somehow hadn't even gotten wet. 

Tiny things. All easily dismissed. Maybe the kids just hadn’t noticed her. Maybe Mom had changed her mind, and given her the candy back. Maybe she hadn’t dropped the phone, after all.

Or maybe she was magic.

oOo

The magical world, Neville Longbottom had explained, was kept secret from the rest of humanity. While wizards and witches were very powerful, they comprised only a small proportion of the human population; in the wake of prejudice and casualties resulting from inter-group violence, it had been decided that it was safer for everyone involved if the magical world went into hiding. With invisibility spells, ignore-me charms, and a vast network of international treaties, the existence of magic had faded into myth and the occasional urban legend.

Thankfully, after the demonstration, Connie’s parents didn’t need much more convincing. They were practical people, who believed in the evidence presented to them. They had realised it would take far more logical jumps to reject Longbottom’s explanation than to accept it. “But how can Connie be… be a witch?” Doug had asked. “Neither of us have magic.”

“It’s not uncommon for magical children to be born into non-magical families. Muggle-borns, we call them.”

Priyanka had looked deep in thought. “It must be recessive,” she'd muttered.“Or polygenetic. I’d love to get a genetic analysis, work out inheritance patterns…”

Longbottom had seemed as confused by this statement as the Maheswarans were by the whole situation, so he had moved on. “Whenever a magical child is born, local governments automatically get a notification,” he had explained. “When your family moved to Britain, the American wizarding government got in contact with our Ministry of Magic, who informed Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I work there as the herbology professor— that’s the study of the cultivation and usage of magical plants. I’m also the one primarily in charge of contacting the families of muggle-borns, and answering any questions they might have.”

Connie had had so many questions. _So many._ They had rushed out of her mouth in a torrent, seemingly unending. What kind of things could magic do? Where was Hogwarts? When could she start school? Did dragons exist? How about zombies?

But even before she had opened her mouth, she had already been given answers. Finally, she had thought, things were starting to make sense. _This_ was the reason she’d never fit in, why she’d always felt lonely, why she’d never made any friends. It _hadn’t_ been because there was something wrong with her. It was because she was magic! And now, she’d get to go to wizard school, with people just like her, and learn the secrets of the universe. _This_ would be her adventure.

oOo

The day her family went to Diagon Alley for the first time was one of the greatest of her life. It had been like stepping into the Infinity Market; so many strange people and spells and powers, all around her. Flocks of owls, an apothecary stocked with dragon scales and threstal hair, a bank manned by goblins, a shop filled with flying broomsticks. 

And there’d been a bookshop! That had been the most exciting stop of the entire day, aside from the trip to find her wand, of course. (She’d come away after twenty minutes with a handsome cedar wand with a unicorn hair core, one which felt light and comfortable in her hand). Her parents had piled her up with the required textbooks, and then allowed her to go wild with personal reading. Connie knew she had a lot of catching up to do. Most of her school mates would have been born into the magical world, already taught all about its histories and laws, its animals and plants. They probably could already do magic. She’d have to work hard to reach their level.

But hard work was something Connie was already accustomed to. 

She was so excited by everything she didn’t notice that she’d lost her bracelet until she’d gotten home that night. She hadn’t really care that much. It had just been a cheap glow stick one; it would have stopped working in a day or so, anyway. And what was a glow stick when she now had _lumos_?

oOo

September came quickly, and it seemed as though no sooner had she finished her last day of primary school that it was the first of September.

The Maheswaran family had set out very early that morning, and arrived at Kings Cross Station station before seven. Part of that was her parents’ usual strictness about being-on-time; part of that was because of paranoia. The instructions Professor Longbottom had given them said that to get onto the platform, they’d have to walk through an apparently impenetrable stone barrier, and they wanted as few people to see that as possible.

It hadn’t really been a problem. It seemed that unless they were actively searching platform 9 & 3/4s out, a person simply wouldn’t notice it— or the people vanishing through it. That was probably a deliberate enchantment. 

Nonetheless, she was one of he first people on the platform for the Hogwarts express. She was also one of the first students on the train, after receiving one last round of lectures and hugs from her parents. They helped her carry her baggage to a carriage at the very back of the train— she had a lot of it, so it seemed best to put it somewhere out of the way. In addition to all the expected clothes, toiletries, books and stationary, Connie had been ladened with enough medical supplies for a small clinic. The only reason her parents hadn’t packed a defibrillator as well was because electronics ceased working inside of Hogwarts’ strong magical field. The Maheswaran parents had been understandably disturbed by this discovery, and it had only been after a great deal of reassurances from Professor Longbottom— that the school did have an excellent medical wing staffed by an experienced and professional healer, and that communications could be maintained by owl and floo— that Doug and Priyanka had reluctantly agreed to allow their daughter to attend. Nonetheless, Dr. Maheswaran had still wanted to ensure that Connie kept healthy, and made sure she had an entire suitcase filled with vitamins, disinfectant, bandages, heat and cold compresses, painkillers, antibiotics, antacid, aloe vera, etc, etc.

Her parents had taken a pretty cheerful approach to the ‘no electronics’ thing, actually. “Kids spend too much time on the internet these days, anyway,” her Mom had said. Connie disagreed, and was secretly lamenting that it would now be even harder for her to keep up with _Under the Knife_. 

But still. A small sacrifice, considering that she was going to learn **actual magic**!

Connie had barely been able to sit still as the train had rolled out of the station, the busy brick buildings and skyscrapers of London giving way into rolling green country side. Connie had been completely alone in the compartment— no one to disturb her as she savoured the view and dug into the next chapter of _The History of Magic_. Nobody was there to watch her when the snack trolley came by, and she used a few sickles from her small allowance to buy some wizard candy. She knew she wasn’t really supposed to eat sweets, but her Mom had said to keep eating healthy at Hogwarts, and she wasn’t _at_ Hogwarts yet, was she?

Besides, they had chocolate frogs that jumped!

oOo

For all the reading Connie had done since discovering she was a witch, she’d actually read very little about her new school itself. She had a book titled _Hogwarts: A History_ , but it had fallen to the wayside in between all the other books about monsters and unicorns and prophecies and duels. 

She knew the bare bones about the House system. She knew there were four of them, each named after one of the Hogwarts’ founders. She knew that Professor Longbottom was head of Gryffindor. She knew that the majority of a students’ classes and spare time was spent with their housemates. But for the most part, she’d simply assumed they were like houses at the ordinary English school she’d attended— that they were superficial categorisations, used mostly for organisation and to foster friendly competition. 

She hadn’t realised there was a _personality test_ involved.

So as she had stood in the Great Hall, listening to an ancient, sentient magical hat sing of the virtues of all the houses, her first reaction had been panic. How could she not have known? What was she going to do? What if she wasn’t good enough for _any_ of them?

Her next reaction was determination. If she was going to be placed into a House, which one would be best?

She was still thinking this over when the Sorting Hat was placed on her head and whispered in her mind, _Well, let’s take a look then, shall we?_

The Hat’s song had still been ringing in her head. Did she want to go to Hufflepuff, the place for people who were steadfast and fair? 

_You have an inherent sense of justice,_ the Hat had said. _And I see that you are a hard-worker._

Connie had made a face. She already _knew_ she was a hard-worker. She’d never had any other choice.

The Hat had given a scratchy little laugh. _Very well. Perhaps Ravenclaw, then?_

The song had described that as the House knowledge, logic and artistry. Well— artistry was stretching it, she felt. She loved a good story, and enjoyed playing violin, but she didn’t feel like she was much of an artist herself. She’d been raised to value knowledge and learning but—

But did she want to be in a House where that was all anyone cared about? Where everyone was obsessed with high marks and intelligence? How would that be any different than her own home? Sometimes— sometimes she just wanted— wanted to have **fun**. 

The Hat had hummed, thoughtful. _Defiant, I see. You’d do well among Gryffindors._

Daring, gallant, valiant, brave. Connie wasn’t sure if any of that truly fit her— magic or not, that was something for heroes, not nervous girls who couldn’t even stand at the front of the classroom. Hard work and intelligence— those were both important, but Connie already knew she had both in abundance. She was smart and logical, and would focus on her schoolwork no matter where she was sent.

But she had wanted something new, something different, something that she didn’t already have.

The Hat’s words had echoed, dully, reminding her of her old, old loneliness, and suddenly, Connie had known **exactly** what she wanted.

_In Slytherin, you've heard it said,_

_Beyond ambition's trend_

_Their cunning and their cleverness_

_And fiercely faithful friends_

So she had said, _Put me in Slytherin_.

For a long, long time, the hat had been silent, considering. Connie had been able to _feel_ the Hat in her mind, peering through her memories, her thoughts, her fears, her desires, and she had shivered. It was a haunting feeling. And just when she was beginning to wonder if the Hat would ever be able to decide, it had announced her choice to the entire hall. 

Flushed with victory, Connie had ran to the Slytherin table, eager to be accepted by her new house.

Immediately after the Sorting and speeches were finished, and a wonderful meal had appeared before them, it had seemed to Connie that she’d made the right decision. Older students congratulated the new ones on their placement, smiling warmly and shaking hands. “We’re definitely the best house. I’m not being biased. It’s just objective.”

Laughter had gone up. “Gryffindors, you see— too rash for their own good. Always getting in trouble.”

“Ravenclaw is pretty good,” someone else had conceded.

“Ah,” a third-year had said, “they’re smart, sure, but all they know is books. We know how to be _practical._ ”

“And Puff?” another student had said, to be met with another chorus of giggles. “That’s just where they put the kids who aren’t good enough to go anywhere else.”

There had been something a little… disconcerting about that, which made her feel uncomfortable. Surely they wouldn’t have an entire house just for that? The Sorting Hat had sung about loyalty and kindness, and those seemed pretty important to Connie. But she’d been willing to put that all aside, and struck up a conversation with some of her year mates.

There were two sitting next to her; a boy named Caelum Carrow and a girl called Regina Goyle. There had been introductions all around, and it hadn’t taken long for the boy to ask the obvious question. “So, where are you from, anyway?”

“America,” Connie had said promptly, having expected the question. “I only moved to the UK last year.”

“But where are you _from_ from?”Caelum had stressed.

Connie had known what he meant— everyone always assumed she must have been born in India, just like her Mom— but she tried not to look frustrated. “I was born in Colorado, but my family moved around a lot.”

“Cool,” Regina had said. “I’ve never been outside of Europe. Are there are lot of wizards and witches in the US?”

“Quite a lot,” Connie had said, because she’d done her research. The North American magical community was large and well-established, but also very spread out, and less controlled by a single governing body, so exact numbers were hard to determine. “I’ve never met any of them, though. I only discovered I was a witch after moving over here.”

There had been a stiff silence. Caelum had suddenly become very interested in his mashed potatoes. Voice pinched, Regina had said, “So your parents are _muggles_ then?”

Feeling cold, Connie had answered, in a voice as level as possible, “Yes.”

Neither of them had spoke to her for the rest of the meal.

oOo

The Slytherin Common Room was beautiful.

Connie hadn’t been expecting it, as she’d travelled with the rest of her housemates into the castle’s depths. Down in the dungeons it was dark, the hallways lit only by flickering torchlight. The air was cool. Moisture clung to the stone walls. Every ‘classroom’ they passed had large doors which in ancient times had instead held prison bars. Connie had felt her hair stand on end, and fought the sudden urge to bolt back to the bright lights of the Great Hall.

The house prefect Buck Dewey had come to a stop in front of what seemed like a completely ordinary stretch of wall. Then he had said the password— “ _asper_ ”— and the wall had retreated, leading into the secret Slytherin common room. Eyes wide, Connie had seen that it wasn’t some damp, musty dungeon after all, but rather like something out of a dark fairy tale. There were tall arching ceilings, gothic carvings and old armchairs made from mahogany, covered in shimmery green linen. Along the walls was tapestry after tapestry, depicting what could only be famous past Slytherins performing mighty deeds— one locked in the middle of a duel, another flying through a terrible storm on a magic carpet, a third battling a creature like a winged lion, only with the horns of a goat and a snake for a tail.

There had been a fire burning in a grand fireplace, its warmth banishing the dungeon’s creeping cold, but it was not the primary source of light. Instead, glowing green glass orbs floated through the air like will’o’the’wisps. Light streamed in from windows too, which was strange since it was so late at light. Doubly strange was the that the light which came through was an ethereal, watery green. When she had been lead to the first year girls’ dormitory and turned a corner, Connie had discovered why.

The common room was _under water._

That corridor’s wall was not built of stone, as every other one was. It was glass. Thick, thick glass, like the kind found in an aquarium. And on the other side of it was the lake. It was night, and the water was inky black, but staring out through the darkness, Connie had thought she could still see the wave of seaweed, and the flicker of fish swimming past. Maybe even the twitch of a tentacle. 

After that, the dorm room itself was something of a disappointment. Yes, it was very nice, in its own way— with its magnificent four posters with green silk sheets and silver pillows, and its circular carpet depicting a snake twisting around itself, each scale woven from a different colour of thread. But all of that was rather humdrum, after getting to look out into lake that was filled with giant squid and merpeople.

And then there were her dorm mates.

Connie had picked up on Regina’s animosity during the feast, but had been doing her best to remain positive. Conversation was muted as they all changed and crawled into bed, but Connie hadn’t thought much of it— it was late, they’d all had a long day, and everyone was tired. That excuse hadn’t existed the next morning, though, when everyone had been buzzing with eagerness and excitement, chatting cheerfully with each other— but not with her. None of the other girls had quite met her eye, none of them asked what class she was looking forward to, none of them even said good morning. It had been like they were deliberately ignoring her.

Confusion had turned into annoyance, which had turned into hurt, which had turned into frustration, and finally, Connie had put her foot down. After flocking to the loo, the girls had begun standing in a thick pack around the sinks, blocking Connie from washing her hands or brushing her teeth. Connie eyed Christine, the only girl who’d given her a smile all morning. “Excuse me,” Connie had said, voice tight but perfectly polite, “Could I squeeze in?”

“Oh— oh sorry,” the girl had said, and begun to move aside.

But Regina had stopped her before she could get very far. “Come on, you’re a Greengrass,” she’d said. “You don’t have to listen to a mudblood.”

Christine Greengrass had blushed, and looked away; the other girls had laughed mockingly; and Connie had stood, frozen, in the toilets until they all left.

oOo

That had only been the beginning. 

Sneers shot at her across hallways. Muttered comments whenever she passed. Pointed silence whenever she spoke. Bowls of food being passed away from her at meal times. Being last pick every time they were asked to partner up in class. 

Connie had experienced bullying before, but never as bad as this. And never before had she _lived_ with her bullies.

She’d dug into her history books— the ones she’d stored away for ‘later’, in favour of ones about dangerous monsters and exciting spells. In her other reading she had come across the occasional mention of muggle/witch tensions, about concerns of lineage and blood purity, but only ever been in passing, so Connie hadn’t thought much about it. She’d figured it was some footnote in history, some issue long passed.

But she had learned the truth. Learned that ‘mudblood’ was considered one of the magical community’s worst slurs. Learned that Salazar Slytherin had been one of the most (in)famous blood purists in history. Learned that just over a decade ago, Wizarding Britain had nearly been torn apart by a war waged against half-bloods and muggle-borns.

She didn’t tell her parents about any of it. They wouldn’t just worry— they would _freak_. And then they would pull her out of Hogwarts and she’d _never_ get to learn magic!

And she _did_ want to stay at Hogwarts, she did! She could— she could deal with the insults and the taunts, with being ignored. It would be hard, but she could do it. Magic was worth so much worse.

Because despite everything, Connie enjoyed Hogwarts— she loved it, even. She loved the long, rambling corridors! She loved the constantly moving staircases, and the portraits that flitted from frame to frame! She loved standing before the great underwater window and staring out into the depths of the lake! She loved flying on a broomstick! She loved her classes, even History of Magic, because while Mr. Binns could drone on and on, he was still a _ghost_ , and he could tell her first hand accounts of everything he talked about! She loved Charms and Transfiguration and Defence Against the Dark Arts, and the sheer thrill of power that raced through her every time she cast a spell correctly.

And that was the _truly_ infuriating thing. She was a good student and a good witch. Connie _knew_ it. She always paid attention in class; she got top marks on all her assignments; she was always one of the first to cast a spell correctly. But none of that had stopped the others from sneering, from saying she wasn’t actually worth anything at all.

Connie had considered, once or twice, going to a teacher and asking for help. But the person she was meant to go to was the Head of Slytherin— and if Slytherin was the most racist, elitist of all the Houses, surely Professor Magpantay was bound to be the most racist, elitist of the teachers? Sure, she had always seemed nice enough in potions class— a bit strict, but not unkind— but what _if_ —

And even if Professor Magpantay did want to help her, what could she do? She’d take her year mates aside and give a lecture about bullying. Everyone would nod and murmur insincere apologies, and the second the professor was out of sight, strike it up again three-fold. 

No. Connie would deal with it herself. That was the only option. 

oOo

There weren’t a lot places Connie could spend her free time. Meals were often a fight to get as much food on her plate as quickly as possible, and she rarely stuck around after finishing her final bite. The dorm room was intensely uncomfortable; even if she drew the curtains around her bed, Connie couldn’t block out the sound of the other girls happily carrying on without her. She mostly used it as a place to sleep and store her stuff. The Common Room itself was somewhat more tolerable— she could find a corner far away from her fellow first years, and the older students were generally less antagonistic. Some of them could even be kind of nice, like Buck Dewey. But they were all teenagers, and she was only eleven, so for the most part they ignored her. 

Connie had taken to spending a lot of time in the library. It was quiet and secluded and nobody ever bothered her there. (Aside from the librarian, Ms. Pince, who seemed to regard all students as potential trouble makers). 

It got boring, though, sitting at the same table every day, breathing in the dust of ancient tomes, feeling like she had no where else to go. Sometimes, she wanted fresh air.

Which is why Connie had found herself wandering the Hogwarts grounds, looking for somewhere tucked away where she could enjoy her book in peace. Eventually, she found it. A nice patch of grass in the shade of the Astronomy tower, to keep the sun off her eyes. It was a pleasant day; the warmth of summer was still hanging around, there was a pleasant breeze, and the lake and forest in the distance made a beautiful view. Connie had sighed with relief as she pulled a book out of her bag.

Not a textbook. Not one of her fantasy novels, either. That day she had wantedsomething with absolutely nothing to do with magic at all. She had begun reading _To Kill a Mockingbird_.

She had gotten through less than two chapters when she suddenly heard somebody screaming at her — looking up, she’d had just enough time to see a boy running at her in a tackle, before a bright pink light surrounded them and there was a loud _crash_ above her head. 


	9. Burst Bubble

Connie stands, dazed and disoriented. Rubbing her head, she takes in the rubble around her feet. Where did it come from?

Looking up, she can see a balcony high up the astronomy tower with a big chunk missing from it. Oh.

She also notices that there’s a weird tint to everything she’s seeing. She appears to be surrounded by an some kind of pink sphere.

Or they, rather. There’s someone else in the bubble with her— the boy who jumped on her, screaming. He must have been trying to warn her her of the falling rubble, trying to get her to safety. Looks like he succeeded, one way or other. “Did you do this?” she asks.

“Uh,” the boy says, looking around and tapping the side of the sphere experimentally. “I guess?”

Connie nods. “Thanks,” she says. And then, looking closer at the boy, she suddenly recognises him. His wide face, big smile, yellow-and-black tie. “Wait— aren’t you Steven? Steven Quartz Universe?”

He smiles. “Yep! N-nice to meet you! Connie, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” Connie says. She’s surprised he knows her name.

She knows _his_ name, of course. She knew it before she even got to Hogwarts. It came up time and time again in her books, though she hadn’t understood the context until she’d started actively researching recent magical history. Steven Universe had been directly implicated in the fall of She Who Must Not Be Named. He’s the only person to _ever_ have survived the Killing Curse, and he did it as a _baby_. Nobody knows how he did it. Just that somehow, the curse’s power rebounded, killing the Dark Lord, and ending the War.

Connie has overheard her year mates talking about Steven a lot. Seems that he’s been the subject of a great deal of speculation and rumour over the past decade. On the night he’d survived the impossible, his mother had perished, and the boy had seemingly disappeared into thin air. His mothers’ closest friends had sworn that he was safe, but otherwise shared nothing, hiding him entirely from the magical world so desperate for information. People had wondered a lot about the boy. What was being kept from them, and why? Surely he must have a great deal of power— what would he do with it? Would he become a great wizard, to rival the ranks of Hecate, Merlin and Dumbledore? Or would he turned his magic to darkness, and follow in the footsteps of the one he’d defeated?

Now he’d finally shown up at Hogwarts, in the flesh, and people seemed to be pretty disappointed by what they'd found.

At least, judging by what the other Slytherin girls said. _This_ was the person who apparently had some amazing magical power? _This_ clumsy, chubby kid? The one who couldn’t cast the simplest of spells and kept nearly blowing up his cauldron? Who was sorted into _Hufflepuff_?

But those girls are all massive jerks, and Connie doesn’t really care what they say. So she says, “Thanks for saving me.”

“No problem!” says Steven.

A pause. They stand there, still inside the bubble.

“So, can you make it go away?”

“Uhh.” Steven grimaces. “I kind of… made it by accident, so… I don’t know.”

Ah. Accidental magic. Connie can’t blame him. It happens to all magical kids, usually in small ways— but in times of high emotions and stress, the results can get more dramatic. That kind of magic can be leagues more powerful than any planned spell, but also far more uncontrollable. That’s the only reason her parents had agreed to send her to Hogwarts in the first place: the older she got without learning to channel her magic, the bigger risk there was that it would escape from her and cause massive damage. 

Not that Steven had caused any damage. In fact, she’s pretty sure that his bubble might have just saved her life. It’s just that getting stuck inside a bubble is massively inconvenient. “So, how do we get out?”

Steven squeezes his eyes shut and grunts, clearly trying to dispel the bubble though force of will. It doesn’t do anything. Unperturbed he says, “We could try a spell. What’s the one for making things blow up? Expolsi?”

“Wait!” Connie says, before he can reach for his wand. “Have you ever used that spell before?”

“Er… no.”

“Then maybe we shouldn’t use it in such small quarters.”

“Oh. Good point.” He taps his chin thoughtfully. “I know! Let’s go find a teacher! I bet they can get us out!

“Good idea,” Connie says. It’s certainly one with less possiblity getting them both burn to a crisp. Together, the two of them begin to roll the bubble up towards the castle.

_Begin_ , being the opportune word. They don’t get very far. Hogwarts is up on a top of a hill. Connie had never thought of it being a particularly steep hill, but that was before she caught stuck inside a human hamster-ball. They push their way up, and then the nature of physics pushes them back down. She really wishes she was good enough at wingardium leviosa to levitate something so big and heavy.

“I guess we’ll have to wander around the grounds until we run into somebody,” Steven says.

“Yeah. I guess,” says Connie. It’s not exactly how she wanted to spend her afternoon, but there’s not much of an alternative.

There’s not a lot of people around. It’s ages until they notice somebody, and even then, it’s just a pair of students. They speed towards them as fast as they can. Connie recognises the boy, brown skinned and lanky. He’s an older Slytherin, often found lurking around the common room. She’s not sure which year, exactly, because he’s always scowling and she’s never even attempted speaking to him. He just screamed ‘unfriendly’. Which is why it’s surprising to see him hanging out with a Gryffindor girl.

The rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin is legendary. Hardly a day goes by without students sniping insults— or sometimes spells—- at each other in the corridors. Yet here’s these two, out for a walk together, no issues at all.

Steven seems to know them both quite well, and enthusiastically introduces them as Lars and Sadie. They can’t introduce themselves because no sound can travel in or out of the bubble. Connie gives them a little wave as they set about the task of breaking the barrier. (Or Sadie does, at least. Lars seems to be entertaining himself by licking the bubble, for some reason, and making really goofy faces.)

“We met on the train to Hogwarts. They gave me donuts, and now I hang out with them between classes sometimes,” Steven explains, as Sadie aims a bright red spell at the sphere. It bounces off harmlessly. Connie’s amazed. She didn’t think anyone their age would hang out with a firstie, let alone one from a different House. 

Sadie— and even Lars— try three more spells. They smoke and smart and slam the bubble backwards, but none of them work. Finally, in her frustration, Sadie just grabs of a giant tree branch from the ground, rushes at the bubble, slamming it with all her might. The branch snaps. After that the two depart, after making vigorous gestures towards the castle.

“I think they’re going to get some teachers,” says Connie.

“That’s nice of them. Just wish we didn’t have to wait,” says Steven. Then his eyes light up. “Maybe we don’t have to! We can go find a teacher ourselves!”

“We tried that, remember? We can’t get up the hill.”

“But we can go _down_ the hill.” Steven points past the lake, towards the forbidden forest. At the edge of it there’s a small cabin. “To Hagird!”

“Hagrid?” Connie echoes. “The groundskeeper?”

“He teaches Care of Magical Creatures too,” says Steven. “He’s really nice! He has a dog and a pumpkin patch and he invited me over for tea the other day.”

“Oh,” says Connie. She’s seen Hagrid around, of course— on the first night crossing the lake, and at every meal in the great hall. She’s a little ashamed to admit that she’s… well, not _scared_ of him, but intimidated. The man is huge, heads taller than anyone else she’s ever seen, with hair and a beard like a mass of wires, and a truly intimidating dog.

Steven says he’s friendly, though, and at this point, Connie isn’t feeling picky. They start to make a windy, careful way down towards the groundskeeper’s cabin. They’re about halfway there when Hagrid emerges, huge sack swung over his shoulder. Steven starts waving and hollering, and even though Hagrid can’t hear them, he still spots the odd bubble rolling its way towards him. He cocks his head at the sight, but returns with a friendly wave of his own.

“He sees us!” says Steven, who picks up speed. Connie speeds up too, because she doesn’t have much choice. They go from walking speed, to jogging, then gravity’s got a hold of them, and they’re at full running speed, being turned over and over and over—

They hit a rock in the path. The bubble bounces, gets knocked away. The two fall down, slammed against the sphere’s side. They try to struggle to their feet, but the bubble’s still moving— not down the path towards Hagrid, but straight towards the lake.

“Stop! Stop!” Connie yells, trying to roll herself the other way.

“I can’t!”

The ball rolls, bounces, spins. It reaches the end of the hell, to the flatter plain leading towards the lake, but it doesn’t matter— it has too much momentum now, and it just keeps going, over the grass, over the sand, into the water, _splash_. 

It sinks. They sink with it. 

Connie and Steven stare out, wide-eyed.

“Oops,” says Steven.

Connie sits down. Hard.

They’re falling, down, down, down. The water is turning darker, darker, every second, as the sunlight becomes nothing more than a rippling veil above. Below is a thick forest of weeds, reaching up like grasping hands— they’re going to get lost in them, and then they won’t be able to see the surface at _all_ — they’re going to keep sinking—

All she wanted to do— _all she wanted to do_ — was have an afternoon reading a book. A chance to just read. To not be bothered, or troubled, to forget everything that was going on, to forget about the bullying and the harassment. That’s all she wanted, and now, and now—

“It’s okay,” says Steven. “It’s okay, we’ll—“

“IT’S NOT OKAY!” Connie screams. The boy flinches. “You don’t know what you’re _talking about_! You got us trapped in a magic bubble, then you got us stuck at the bottom of the lake, and we’re going to suffocate and starve down here, or get eaten by the squid, and nobody besides my parents are going to notice or care!” Connie gasps, her voice hoarse, tears running down her face. “I’m going to die without having made a single friend.”

A warm pink light fills the bubble. Connie looks up. Steven’s holding out something to her— a glow bracelet?

“We can be friends,” he says. Despite everything, he’s smiling. “I saw you in Diagon Alley. You dropped this, and I couldn’t catch up with you. I’ve been trying to find a chance to give it back.”

“My bracelet,” Connie says. She reaches out and takes it. It feels like ice under her fingers. “It’s cold!”

“There’s a freezing charm on it.”

“So it won’t run out,” Connie says. She stares at the light— a little dimmer than what a warm glow stick would usually produce, but still comforting. She slips it onto her wrist. “Thank you.”

He sits down next to her. “Sorry I got you stuck down here.”

“It’s not your fault,” Connie says. “And besides. It’s kind of pretty.”

And it is. Connie’s often appreciated the view of the lake from the window in the Slytherin common room, and this is just like that, only all around her. She’d been so scared she hadn’t taken time to appreciate it. Now she can. The way the water seems to stretch on all around them, calm and strange. The little shiny fish that flit through the weeds, the way those weeds wave gently in the current. It’s magical.

The two children lean against one another, enjoying the scenery. 

The bubble pops.

Water floods in, pressure slamming into them. Connie just barely manages to keep her mouth closed.She’s beginning to panic when she feels a warm hand in hers— Steven’s. He tugs on her arm, towards the surface, and they start to paddle upwards. 

Then another hand reaches for her— this one green, long finger— grabs her ankle, and _yanks_.

Connie almost screams. She just barely manages to hold onto her mouthful of air, but can’t stop herself from gaping. The thing grabbing at her is small, humanoid, but slimy green with a bulbous head. It’s grinning at her with sharp, pointing teeth, and its grip is like iron, trying to pull her down. _Grindylow_ , some part of her brain supplies. 

She grasps for her wand. She grips the smooth wood, aims it at the creature. But then she goes short. She can't speak, can't say a single spell, and even if she could, she has no idea which one she could use-

And there are more. One, two, three, slithering out of the weeds, holding her down, trying to grab Steven too. They start to swim faster, but her wet robes are heavy, the grindylow's grip is strong. It’s got her— she’s not going to get away—

Steven swims back down, tries to push the thing off of her. It doesn’t budge. Alarm flares through Connie— he has to leave, he’s just going to die too! She kicks desperately, stamping on the monster’s long fingers. She feels something _snap._ The grindylow makes a harsh screech and retreats, but there’s another there in an instant, hungry for an easy meal. The two of them fight and kick, trying to get away, trying to get up, but Connie’s lungs are burning, black spots are filling her vision—

Dimly, she sees something huge coming at them from above, and she doesn’t even have enough energy left to be afraid. 

The huge thing wraps a tentacle around the two children, then swipes the grindylow away with a wave of a second. Then it propels itself up, up, up. The tentacle bursts through the surface in an instant, pushing the humans up into the air. They spit, gasp, breathing in desperate gulps of fresh air. They’re still gulping and gasping as the giant squid swims towards the shore, and gently deposits them on the sand.

Connie lays on her back, staring up at the evening sky, too overwhelmed to move. 

Steven, though, climbs to his feet almost immediately. He gives the giant squid a pat on its tentacle. “You saved us,” he says. “Thank you!”

The tentacle pats him on the head in return, then retreats into the water.

There’s yelling in the distance, growing louder, louder. It takes all of Connie’s will to focus on it. Finally, it resolves into words; “Steven! Steven! Miss Maheswaran! Are you okay!”

She makes herself sit up. The teachers have arrived— Professor Jones, Professor Magpantay, even Headmistress Abeni— and they’ve buried Steven beneath a mound of desperate hugs. Off to the side of them is the groundskeeper Hagrid, who comes to her and offers a massive hand. Connie takes it, and lets him pull her to his feet.

“I was so scared when I say yeh two fall inta the lake. Glad to see yeh got out alrigh’,” he says with a warm smile.

“Thanks,” says Connie. She nods towards the cuddle pile. “Did you get them?”

“Sure did. Rushed soon as ah told 'em. Thought Pearl was gonna have a heart attack,” says Hagrid.

Professor Magpantay straightens. Looking a little reproachful, she says, “Well, the lake is _very_ dangerous. You two could have been very badly hurt. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“We’re fine! These weird monster things tried to catch us—”

“Grindylows,” says Connie. “You were incredible! You came back for me, pushed them off!”

Steven giggles. “But _you_ kicked them off! You were so cool!” he says. “And then the giant squid came and carried us to safety!”

Professor Jones is smiling an especially wide smile. “Cooooool dude. Did you have fun? Y’know, _before_?”

“Yes, how did it go Steven?” Professor Magpantay says, now smiling a strange smile of her own. 

Steven shuffles his feet. “ _Guuuyyyysss_.”

The Headmistress puts a hand on the teachers’ shoulders, silencing them. She surveys the two students and pulls out her wand. She waves it without a word, and suddenly the two of them are bone dry. Connie feels at her hair and her cloak,amazed at the sudden dryness. And the warmth. She hadn't realized it, but she'd been shivering heavily. Professor Abeni says, “I’m glad you’re both safe.”

It’s late afternoon by the, and they have no time to dawdle. After stopping by the bottom of the astronomy tower to retrieve her bag and books, the group makes their way to the Great Hall for supper. The smell of hot sausages is overwhelming. Connie’s stomach is growling, and she just wants to grab her food as fast as she can, then collapse into her bed for a long night sleep. 

“Oh, _yum_ ,” says a voice behind her. She looks— it’s Steven, who’s followed her right to the Slytherin table.”

Connie looks at him. “Uh, Steven,” she says. “Hufflepuff table is over there.”

“I know,” he says. “Can I sit with you?”

Connie blinks. “Uh….”

She’s never seen students _sit_ at another house’s table at meals. Visit, share conversations, indulge in the occasional food fight… but sit there? For the whole thing?

But she’s never heard anyone say there’s a _rule_ against it. And Steven’s clearly friends with a bunch of the teachers. In fact, Professor Jones, Magpantay and Abeni seem to be watching them right now from the head table, and all of them are grinning, even the headmistress. Connie glances along the Slytherin table, filled with strangers and bullies. Then she feels the comforting weight of the glow bracelet on her hand, and says, “Sure, why not?”

She sits down, and Steven sits next to her. The Slytherins blink at him in surprise, but no one tells him to leave. Maybe they’re too taken aback. Maybe they’re still too impressed by the infamous survivor of the killing curse to say no to him, even if he _is_ some clumsy Puff kid. Steven pulls over a big serving bowl and asks Connie, “Want some soup?”

Connie beams at him. “Yes, please!”

After all, there are some things you can’t share without ending up liking each other, and escaping a hoard of hungry grindylow is one of them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woot, we're back baby! After all those Stevonnie episodes, I've been itching for writing some more Steven and Connie interaction, because those two are <3
> 
> Also, if you're looking for more of this universe... I'd like to point you in the direction of "Balikbayan (Returning to One's Roots)" by Airamcg. It's an in-continuity prequel to this fic, exploring Pearl's life between graduating and the War, when she returned to the Philippines to explore her family history. Airamcg has been absolutely instrumental in incorporating Filippino culture into this fic, and solidifying certain upcoming plot points, and I can't thank them enough.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Balikbayan (Returning to One's Roots)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7635250) by [airamcg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/airamcg/pseuds/airamcg)




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